“I hope,” said George, “you won’t be angry at me. Indeed Miss M was a star, but I have to be honest. I can assure you that I wish it hadn’t happened.”
“Don’t be angry,” urged Angela.
“I hope you believe me.”
“We believe you. Now what?”
“Now what? O, good Heavens!” answered George. ”Was not Miss M the idol of millions? You’d say she was that. And did she really touch me?” asked George trembling. ”Tell me that it didn’t happen, that we didn’t have our little secret. No, no, but it did. I can assure you that it did,” cried George. “But would they have believed me? A child’s word against an adult’s? A boy over a celebrity? And if my parents had sought prosecution, wouldn’t her public have cried foul? Wouldn’t they have turned it around and accused my parents of extortion?”
Upon saying that George doubled over in the chair as he frequently did on the floor. He cried again. Not many of them had seen a grown man cry, and they were amazed. ”No, no,” George cried. “What I’ve told you about Miss M certainly happened, but who would’ve believed me, believed that she touched me? How unlucky I was that my parents often invited her to stay in our home and did nothing to stop it. They had to have known. Surely the devil himself must’ve been involved.”
“Surely.”
“See you’re beginning to have doubts about me. But how could I blame you? I caused my own misery. It was my own fault. And people often tell me to get over it. It should be simple, shouldn’t it? Yeah! I should be able to do it. But why don’t I? Am I not grown and isn’t Miss M dead? Oh shit, to have that happen. To a boy? And to what extent was I to blame?” Angela then pulled a chair up and sat there, trying to comfort him, as he grieved. “Hold me, hold me, and don’t leave me.” But the more he expressed his torment the more he withdrew within himself.
Antonio!
“But what did my husband do?” demanded Maria.
“You know what he did,” answered Higgs. ”Antonio turned out to be just as corrupt as I was. Bootlegging, drinking, mourning over violence…the end of sanity.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Excuse me!”
“I don’t want to argue. We were lucky to have lived through it. I don’t need to apologize.”
Antonio!
“Maybe I didn’t win every battle.”
“Fourth and inches. Tell me who always won,” insisted Maria.
“But observe where we are now,” continued Higgs.
Antonio!
BODY FOUND IN DUMPSTER. ARMS GONE! headline read.
Poor Antonio.
“I’ve been thinking about L .A.,” began Anna.
No one reacted.
“Did you hear me? I’m thinking about moving to L A.”
Run. But wait! No, run. Better to be safe. Run. Serve, pick up the ball, and serve! Idiot! Forget his name. Ah yes, certain things come back to him now, things that he didn’t invent. Faust, that was his name. Horrible! To be used as a guinea pig. That sounds like one of Dr. Claxton’s tricks.
At that moment the doorbell rang three times. It announced the arrival of company. Maria went to open the door. George froze with horror. Surprise, horror, and loathing were depicted on his face. He conjured up the scene that followed. Faust! Which of them didn’t feel his skin creep?
Almost without exception the residents of the boarding home would gather at the same time to watch the evening news. T here were reasons, whether they watched the news or not…of course some of them never paid attention to the news…why this time together was so necessary. The people concerned knew each other well and generally looked forward to socializing at least part of each evening. The television was set up in the living room for general use and stayed on most of the time.
Dusk wouldn’t arrive for several hours; but it had cooled off, the air had not only cooled but had grown moist, and the scent of rain had awakened the senses. The living room, with its high ceilings and oak panels, harked back to former residents who didn’t worry about cooling or heating bills.
“Why didn’t they wash their hands of me and set me free? That would’ve done more for me than keeping me locked up,” George thought.
Stunned, Maria couldn’t stop ten or twelve people from pushing their way in. Some were distinguished. Others were nobodies. Some looked as if they came directly from the street. None were completely drunk.
A number of people from the outside rushed in. Some also came in through the back door. More waited on the porch. Maria hurried back into the large living room, while several people clawed passed her.
“Ah, there’s the Ping-Pong champ!” yelled a voice familiar to George. “Hello George, you bastard!”
“There he is!” Another voice topped the noise of the crowd.
George recognized the two voices immediately: one belonged to institutionalized Faust, the other Dante.
Cruel it seems. Sedate him. Knock him out. Use that new drug. EST! Zap him and maybe he’ll be less depressed. Yet the more George complained the more he had to complain about.
Everyone was talking at once. Everyone exchanged accusations, and there was no single reason for all the noise. Maria went to investigate.
Practically all of Mrs. Martinez’s news came from the television, because, as she rightly said, she stayed too busy to read anymore. Her tendency those days was to rely on venerable Dan; she was determined to keep abreast of national events, while she tried to ignore most local things. She hoped that by ignoring local problems that they’d go away.
Fred came into the room again. He came to talk to Mrs. Martinez. He had other business there as well, and to George and O’Toole he was less than civil; but his landlady noted that he had been unusually pleasant to her. He wasn’t fond of George…and had told her so…and wasn’t it possible that Anna had changed her mind and had suddenly taken a fancy to him. No, it wasn’t possible. All or nothing, he was that kind of guy. He’d approach Anna and try again. He’d try and use skills long neglected, finally forgotten, to proclaim his love, before he was done talking to her. Done with listening he’d speak from his heart in hopes that he could convince her, help her see what he could give her and allow her to think of herself as worthwhile.
Randy Ford
