I Love You, Stupid! Page 11

  22

  “Stay home another day,” Sally urged Marcus before she left for work Monday morning.

  “Go ahead, I can take care of myself.” He was definitely feeling better. “Quit hovering over me.” He was full of resolutions. Time to take a more positive attitude toward life. Right now he was going to write, and later he was going to call Wendy.

  Isabel Malefsky. He sat with his notebook open and thought about her. In Miss Black’s sixth-grade class he’d sat behind Isabel feeling excited and aroused because of a girl for the first time in his life. He was still fat that year and shy around girls, and he never spoke to Isabel. He remembered standing outside her window at night, dreaming that she would look out and see him.

  He felt good writing it down. How fanatical, devoted, and dumb he’d been. On Valentine’s Day he’d made a huge red heart out of construction paper. Inside he wrote, “Dear Is, Is you is, or is you ain’t my valentine?” and signed it, “The Lone Ranger.” He had taken the valentine to her house the night before Valentine’s Day, slipped it under her door, then run for his life.

  In class the next day, Isabel showed the valentine to everyone. “Did you send this stupid valentine? Did you? Did you?”

  She stood in front of him, holding the valentine between two fingers as if it smelled. He shook his head. “It’s you,” she said. “I know it’s you.” She dropped it in the waste-basket. “It has to be a dumbbell like you.”

  Around three o’clock Marcus phoned Wendy. The phone rang several times before Wendy answered. “Hello,” he said, “it’s me.”

  “I’d never have known.” Was there a coolness in her voice?

  “You recognize my voice?”

  “Unmistakable. Glad you got it back.”

  “What do you mean?” He was alarmed. Got what back?

  “Don’t you remember? Silent Sam. I was yapping away and you wouldn’t talk.”

  “I was upset.”

  “I was, too, the way you were acting.”

  “I wasn’t mad at you.”

  “Well, it sure seemed that way.”

  “What are you doing now?” he said. “Busy, I suppose? I know how it is when you’re so popular.”

  “Yes, my fans are sooo demanding. They don’t give me a minute’s peace.”

  “Why don’t you come over? Come up and see my aspirin sometime.”

  “What an irresistible offer. Do you mean it?”

  “I want to see you, Wendy.”

  “In that case, I’m coming over.”

  Wendy was coming! He stretched out on the bed, then embraced the pillow. He had her in his arms, squeezing her tighter and tighter. “Wendy!” he shouted. Awww! His throat. “Wendy,” he said more quietly. “Oh, Wendy.” He kissed the pillow.

  He got up, changed the sheets and pillowcase, took a shower, sprinkled himself with powder, dressed, and combed his hair. Ugh, too smooth! He messed it up again and lay back down on the bed.

  He woke to hear Wendy in the other room talking to his mother. He sat up and rubbed his face, feeling suddenly tense and insecure. Wendy sounded so mature. Her voice, and the way she laughed—so sure and relaxed. Had she changed in these few days, found someone else?

  “Hey, Wendy,” he croaked, going into the living room. She wore shorts and clogs, her legs and arms brown and fit. She looked gorgeous. He put on a happy face. “How you doing?”

  His mother felt his head. “I’m going out to meet Bill now. I’ll be an hour, two at the most. Are you going to keep him company, Wendy?”

  “If it’s all right, Sally.”

  “Well, you’re not going to catch anything. He’s past the contagious period, but don’t let him bully you.”

  “Cut it out, Sally.”

  His mother kissed him. “Try not to be as obnoxious to Wendy as you are with me.”

  “I’m never obnoxious to Wendy.”

  “I didn’t realize how sick you were,” Wendy said as they went to his room. “Sally was telling me. I should have come over sooner.”

  “You might have caught it.”

  “I wouldn’t have cared. We could have been sick together.”

  In the same bed, he thought.

  “You look a lot better than I expected,” Wendy said.

  “It’s the company. It puts a bloom in my cheek and this croak in my voice.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you still mad at me?”

  “I wasn’t mad at you, Marcus. You were the one who was mad at me.” She paced the room. “I tried to explain to you: with my uncle there, I just didn’t feel right. And then you didn’t say a word. I felt like such a fool. Yes, after that, I was sort of mad at you, I admit it.”

  “I wasn’t mad at you either. I was mad at myself, the way things fizzled out.”

  “It wasn’t the right place, I kept telling you.”

  “It was something else.” He bit his lip. If she didn’t know, should he say anything? Did she even still want to? “You don’t know what happened, do you?”

  “Yes I do. You got mad at me because I was making a fuss about the room being wrong.”

  “No, it wasn’t you. Me. I tried, and I couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t what?” She paused at the foot of the bed.

  “I couldn’t … He … That idiot! … He wouldn’t … Understand?”

  “Oh, was that it? What a misunderstanding. You were worried too. Not just me.”

  “Right.”

  “Sure, of course, I’ve read about that. They say ninety percent of sex is in the mind.”

  His hands were damp. He wanted her to sit on the bed, sit next to him, close. Did she still want to? “What’re your thoughts about mental telepathy?” he asked.

  “That’s easy. Not very scientific.”

  “Watch this.” Marcus put his fingertips to his temples. “I’m sending you a message. Do you receive my message?”

  “Wait a minute, professor. What kind of message?”

  “One you want to hear.” He concentrated. Do you want to? Do you want to? Do you?

  “Stop,” Wendy cried, “I’ve got the message. You want … want … you want me to get on the bed next to you. Am I right?”

  He moved over. “Close enough.” She sat next to him, and they held hands.

  “Now let’s play another game,” Wendy said. “Questions and answers. I ask and you answer. What do you think about me?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “Don’t answer a question with a question.”

  “I dreamed about you last night.”

  “What was the dream?”

  “X-rated dream.”

  “Interesting?”

  “Very.”

  “What did we do?”

  “Well … something we wanted to do and didn’t.”

  “I’m getting the picture, Swami.”

  She put her arm around his neck. They kissed then lay on the bed pressed close together. “You’re going to get my cold,” he said.

  “I don’t care. Isn’t it nice being together again? I missed you.”

  “After last time, I was going to be a monk, give up sex, spend my life writing and making monk’s bread.”

  “You’re not the type. Let’s take off some of these clothes. Do you want to?”

  That had to be the dumbest question he’d ever heard.

  “The door,” Wendy said. He got up and pushed a chair under the knob. “Pull the shade,” she said. “Do you think Sally will notice?”

  “Sure. With her bionic vision, my mother notices everything.”

  “I’m serious. I wouldn’t want her to know.”

  “Why? She’d love to have you in the family.”

  “Is that a proposal? Forget it. I’m not getting married for a long time.”

  He caught her hands. “Are we starting a fight?”

  “No, let’s start a kiss.”

  Holding hands, they kissed awkwardly. “We did better before,” Wendy said. She pulled him down and leaned over him. After a while she said. �
��Marcus, do you think anybody’s as slow and ignorant as we are?”

  “I doubt it, but we’ll get it.” They kissed again, touched and kissed, and rolled around the bed. His breath was coming short. He fumbled, excited and scared. “Wendy, are you all right?… Should I?… Is it all right?”

  “Yes, yes … please.”

  “We can stop anytime. Just say stop, and I’ll stop. Do you want me to stop? I will, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Stop talking so much, Marcus. I’m glad … yes …”

  “Oh … Oh, Wendy, am I doing … is this right?”

  “I think so. Yes, I think so … yes … okay … yes, yes, yes …” She was laughing. “It’s so funny. My, god, Marcus, we’re doing it!”

  Later, with the shade up and the door open, they sat on opposite ends of the bed, looking at each other. Wendy had dealt out a hand of cards, but they weren’t playing. “I think congratulations are in order,” she said.

  “Congratulations, Barrett.”

  “Congratulations, Rosenbloom.”

  23

  The moment Marcus awoke the next morning he thought of what had happened—Oh, Wendy!—and he shouted with joy.

  Outside his window the sparrows squabbled, traffic hummed, the world was waiting for him. He was up and out of bed, washed and dressed, not stopping for breakfast, banging down the stairs, bike on his shoulder. He wore an open-collared shirt, and a blue and white checked bandanna loosely knotted around his neck.

  The bike purred along the road. Traffic was still light. He sniffed the fumes, a bracing smell of gas and oil. “Good morning,” he said to a man who looked still half-asleep, dreaming about the her that he dreamed about. Marcus was on to everyone now. He’d found the key to the world’s great secret. Everywhere people were doing it. Oh, joy!

  He slowed to allow a young woman to cross in front of him. She hesitated, then stepped out quickly. Her feet in little blue and white sneakers seemed adorable to him. Don’t be afraid of me, lovely lady. You can depend on Marcus.

  Racing along with the cars, he felt comradely, friendly, a man among men. Yesterday he’d just been a kid with his tongue hanging out, but today, today, I am a man!

  Wendy, wearing green Army fatigues, answered the door. “Marcus?” Why was she surprised to see him? “You’re early. I’m still eating breakfast.” She held up a spoon.

  “I haven’t eaten yet. I thought we could grab something together.” Was that too raunchy? She was somehow different than he’d expected. Did she remember? She seemed so separate, cool, and distant, as if they’d just met.

  Inside there was a dark pungent smell of coffee. Wendy’s uncle in his white uniform was at the stove pouring himself a cup. He glanced at Marcus’s bandana. “What’s that? You got a sore throat?”

  “Cornflakes?” Wendy said. “Milk, bananas? Your basic American breakfast. Help yourself, Marcus.”

  He was hungry, but uncomfortable with her uncle. The man’s glance was keen, as if he’d guessed what Marcus was celebrating with the checked kerchief. “I’ll wait for you outside, Wendy. Okay if I leave my bike here today?”

  “Put it in the garage,” Uncle Doug said, “so the kids don’t play with it.”

  In the back the old apple tree was covered with fragrant blossoms. Marcus broke off a sprig.

  “Isn’t the tree beautiful?” Wendy propped her lunch and notebook between her knees and tied her hair back with a green kerchief.

  He handed her the sprig of flowers. She wedged them into her notebook. “Let’s go,” she said.

  He had expected more: deep lingering looks, a passionate kiss. “I haven’t eaten yet,” he said a little forlornly.

  “You idiot, why didn’t you eat when I asked you to?”

  “Your uncle spooks me. You want to stop and get something?”

  She looked at her watch. “We don’t want to be late. Here, take my lunch.”

  He ate an egg salad sandwich and a banana. “I’ll leave you the apple.”

  “No, eat it. I don’t care. I’ll buy something in school.”

  “Let me pay, then.”

  “Oh, forget it, what is it, a dollar? You paid for me lots of times.”

  He crumbled the empty bag and dropped it into a can. “Did you forget?” he said. Their eyes met.

  “That’s all I’ve been thinking about,” she said. “I never thought I would feel this way. Isn’t it funny, Marcus: here we are, the same people we were yesterday, but it’s different. Do you feel it, too?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I feel different, the same but different.”

  “I thought I would feel good. You know, it’s over with, I did it, hooray, and all that. But—” She linked arms with him. “I keep getting these weird, possessive thoughts. Like, he’s mine, mine, mine!”

  He smiled. “It’s all right with me.”

  “Not with me. I don’t want to own anyone. Just because we—No, I really didn’t think it would be this way.”

  They held hands, lingering outside school, reluctant to separate. “You’re right,” he said, “people shouldn’t belong to each other.”

  “Some people just hang on for dear life,” Wendy said. “They make each other their security blankets. Some of the kids around school, the way they go around draped over each other, you’d need a crowbar to pry them apart.” The bell rang.

  “See you lunchtime,” Marcus said.

  “I can’t. We’re going on a botany field trip to Baltimore Woods.”

  “You mean I won’t see you today?” He couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice.

  “I’ll stop by your house after school.”

  They separated near the gym. “Don’t forget,” he said, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Lunchtime, outside, he moved languidly, the way he’d been moving all morning. No more speeding places, no more nervous gestures, no more yapping and jerking around every second. The new smooth Marcus, laid back, swinging his shoulders, free and easy. He smiled at several girls, really met their eyes.

  In the shade, in front of the school, he sat on the railing with Pfeff, Gordy, and Alec. It was so hot everyone was out. Pfeff lit a cigar and Gordy sniffed appreciatively. “Umm, what we have here is the aroma of a fine panatella, a rich, earthy smell.”

  Pfeff held the cigar out. “That’s not what it smells like.”

  “Don’t say any more,” Gordy warned, “or you will be expelled for poor English usage.” Marcus’s eyes followed the girls in brief shorts and tops going slowly past. Was he being disloyal to Wendy looking at other girls? Was she looking at guys the way he was looking at these girls? He didn’t think he’d like it if she was.

  Pfeff and Gordy were counting who had a bra on and who didn’t.

  “Bra,” Pfeff said.

  “Bouncer,” Gordy said.

  Marcus turned to Alec. “How’s Terri these days? Don’t hear you talk about her much.”

  “She’s gone to California, to see her father.”

  “You’re all alone. That’s sad.”

  Alec shrugged. “She’ll be back this summer.”

  “I’m thinking of traveling this summer.” Marcus reknotted the scarf around his neck. “Going up to Canada, to Algonquin Park, or maybe out west.”

  “Hey, Marc, I’ll go with you.” Pfeff talked around his cigar.

  “Not if you smoke those things. I’ve got my partner anyway. A lot better looking than you.”

  “You’re going to travel with a girl?” Pfeff spit. “Horse-balls, right? Who is she? You don’t have a girl.”

  Marcus sat back. Alec was listening. “It’s still in the early planning stages.”

  “That means you haven’t even talked to her?” Pfeff said.

  “Oh, we’re talking, all right.” He knocked his pipe out on the railing, then stood up. “Lots of talk.” He clapped Alec on the back. “See you guys. I’ve got a busy afternoon.”

  It was hot in the house, airless. He stripped down to his shorts and sat by the open window with his
notebook. Idly he titled the Isabel story, “A Dumbbell Like You.”

  Later he moved one of his mother’s big plants from the living room to his room. If Wendy came too late, nothing would happen. He was practical and dreamy, and full of plans. When she came in he’d catch her in his arms, carry her to the bed, and then …? He couldn’t imagine how they’d managed it; the whole thing now seemed extraordinary. This bed. In this very bed! He thought of all the places he’d heard or read about people doing it: the kitchen table, in the bathtub, in elevators, on roofs, even in airplanes.

  The bell rang. “Hello.” Wendy’s face was flushed, her shirt out. There was a dandelion tangled in her hair.

  “Inside all this time! How can you stand it? It’s so gorgeous out.” She handed him a blue-jay feather. “I’ve got to have something to drink.”

  In the kitchen he poured her a glass of milk and told her the Isabel story. “Poor Marcus, I would never have been so cruel.” She leaned her cheek against his.

  He put his arm around her. “Story time is over.” He looked into her eyes. “What do you want to do now?” I want to go to bed with you.

  She fanned her face. “It’s so close in here.”

  “How’s it outside?” he said. Let’s take off our clothes.

  “Oh, not bad. Want to go out?”

  “Do you?” We could take a shower together.

  “Maybe we could find someplace cool.”

  “Let’s try the roof,” he said.

  On the roof, heat beat up from the tar. The light was blinding. A line of clothes snapped in the wind. It looked like the worst place to escape from the heat, but on the shaded side of the elevator shaft it was cooler. And there, as if it were waiting for them, was a faded old mattress.

  “Look what some kind person has left us,” Marcus said. He stooped down and felt it. “Dry too.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Wendy said. “Where did it come from?”

  “Got me, but aren’t you glad?”

  “You knew it was here all the time.”

  “I’m as surprised as you.” He fell on the mattress. “Comfortable, though. Try it. The breeze is great here.”

  Wendy sat down next to him. “Is this where you bring all your girls?”

  He tickled her neck. “A dumbbell like me?”