I Love You, Stupid! Page 12

  “Funny, Rosenbloom.”

  He leaned toward her, and they kissed. “How come you’re smiling so much?” she said.

  They kissed again. “I hope nobody comes up here,” Wendy said.

  “I’m listening. My bat ears will hear them coming six flights down. We are alone.”

  “We’d better be.” She half rolled on top of him, kissed him on the mouth, then rolled herself all over him.

  Afterward he remembered the snapping sheets, and the smell of tar and clean laundry, and the musty mattress, and how sticky they were.

  24

  The next time they went back to the roof, a woman was there with her children, hanging up clothes. She gave them a long suspicious look, and then went away. The next time, the mattress was gone.

  After school on Friday, Wendy came over to the house and they went straight to Marcus’s room and shut the door. Bill walked in almost on their heels. “There goes a beautiful idea,” Wendy said.

  Marcus opened the door. “Hello, Bill. Wendy’s here.”

  “How are you kids doing?” Bill removed his tie. “Did Sally tell you what she wanted to do about supper, Marc?”

  “No idea.” Bill went to see if there was a note in the kitchen. “Shut the door,” Marcus said.

  “We can’t. Bill’s here.”

  “I know it. I want to have a temper tantrum.” He could hear Bill whistling in the kitchen.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Wendy said. “He’s here, so we’ve just got to change gears.”

  “I don’t feel like a car,” Marcus said. “I want to throw things.” He picked up Wendy’s sneakers and threw them into the closet. Then a magazine, then the blanket from the foot of bed, then the pillow. “And now the mattress. Off the bed, Wendy.”

  She got up. “Go ahead. Get it out of your system.” She helped him drag the mattress off the bed. “Why don’t you throw your desk out the window?” She made him laugh finally.

  At supper they sat with Sally and Bill. The four of them together was kind of dull, but cozy and domestic. Bill talked about diets, and Sally agreed with everything he said. “You just can’t eat as much as you get older, not if you want to stay in shape.”

  Marcus yawned. “Come on, you guys, I hate it when you get going like this. These two are so self-satisfied,” he said to Wendy. He was the first one done eating. “You’re a poke,” he said, putting his arm across Wendy’s chair. “How come you walk so fast and eat so slow? Hurry up.” Then he pulled her chair away from the table and grabbed her under the arms. “You’ve eaten enough. You’ll get fat as a cow. Let’s go. I know where we can get some really good hot fudge sundaes.”

  “You’re leaving the cleanup to us?” Sally said.

  “Sure, what else do you two old folks have to do?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. Bill did the whole supper. He told me you didn’t lift a finger. Now you do the cleanup.”

  “How about you?” Marcus said.

  “I supervise.”

  “Do I get the car then?”

  Sally looked at Bill. “Are we doing anything?”

  “There’s a Clint Eastwood movie at the James.”

  “You’d go to a Clint Eastwood movie?” Marcus said. “Ugh!”

  “I love Clint Eastwood,” Wendy said. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Marcus pulled her aside and whispered. “Will looking at his manly torso make you so sexy you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

  “Not unless there’s a full moon,” Wendy said.

  By the time the dishes were done Sally and Bill had decided to stay home, so Marcus got the car. He and Wendy drove around for a while. It was hard to find a decent place to park. A lot of places like down along the railroad tracks, or in back of the Field House, were just too creepy. One night they’d driven around for an hour and couldn’t find anything. Tonight, Marcus pulled in back of a dark gas station between a couple of wrecked cars. It smelled greasy. He ran his hand lightly up Wendy’s arm, lingering at her bra strap. She wriggled her shoulders. “What do you think?”

  “Stinks.”

  “You never think of places,” he said. “You just turn them down.”

  “Oh, this place is perfect,” Wendy said. “Don’t you just love the smell of old greasy oil?”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  Wendy stuck her head out the window. “Look, Marcus, there’s the Big Dipper, and that’s the North Star. Do you know any of the constellations? Look, I think that one—see those stars in a row—that’s Berenice’s Hair.”

  He pulled her back into the car. “What do you see now?”

  “A big, dark, doggy head.”

  “Woof, woof.” He kissed her, and unbuttoned her shirt.

  “What are you doing, Marcus?”

  “Guess.”

  “Marcus, let’s just talk for a while.”

  He heard her, but he didn’t hear her. He felt like it. He always felt like it! He got his hand under her knees and pulled her next to him.

  She shook free. “What is this caveman approach?”

  “I thought you were in the mood for Clint Eastwood?”

  “You don’t look like Clint Eastwood to me.”

  “What’s the matter, am I especially repulsive tonight?”

  “I just feel like talking for a while.”

  “Okay, go ahead, talk.” He grinned, but he felt cheated and belligerent. He put his hands behind his head, didn’t look at her, and started whistling.

  “You’re sulking,” she said.

  “Not me. I’m whistling.”

  “Do we have to be making it every second? Is that the only reason we hang out? For that one reason only?”

  “No! If you don’t want to, I don’t want to. I don’t care.”

  “Don’t be reckless, Marco.” They kissed. “You know,” she said, “there are times when I don’t want to.”

  “Then you shouldn’t.” They kissed again. No rush. Nice guys didn’t push. But all the time they were saying how open and frank they’d always be, he kept hoping that his Mr. Nice Guy sincerity would pay off.

  A police cruiser slid around the corner and turned its spotlight on them.

  “Oh, no!” Wendy exclaimed.

  It was a good thing they were still sitting in the front seat. The cop got out of his car, the shiny black bulge of his gun in Marcus’s face. “Let’s see your license. Registration too.” Marcus felt grim, stupid, like a kid who’d been caught doing something. Wendy didn’t say a word.

  “Whose car is this?”

  “My mother’s.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “Does my mother know I’m here!”

  “Listen, this is private property. I catch you here again, I’m going to run you and your cutie in.”

  The cop waited till Marcus backed out and drove away, then followed them for several blocks. Marcus had a red-hot coal in his stomach.

  “Let’s go home,” Wendy said.

  “Why? He shouldn’t have bothered us. We weren’t doing anything.”

  “We might have been, Marcus. That would have been nice.”

  “I think that’s what he was hoping for. Cops are like anyone else, sneaking around trying to see what they aren’t supposed to.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Wendy said. “It was private property.”

  “Have you noticed that you have an answer for everything!” He drove down behind some stores, but it was all wrong after that.

  “We’d better call it quits.” Wendy said.

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Why are you so belligerent?”

  “Because I’m male.”

  “Then be less male.”

  “I bet you’d love that.”

  He kept looking for a place that would satisfy Wendy. Any place would have satisfied him.

  “We’re not going to find anyplace.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  He finally parked at the end of a dead end street, wit
h a lot of overhanging trees. There were a few houses nearby, but it was dark and quiet and there was no traffic. “What do you think? This is perfect.”

  “I told you I don’t think we should park at all. I’m really nervous now.”

  He put his arms around her. “You know you don’t mean that.” He teased her a little. “I’ll protect the little cutie.”

  “Ugh!” She dug her elbow into his ribs. “I hate that word.”

  He kissed her. She put her arms around his neck. He began to feel good again. It was going to happen, and he felt warm, eager, and helpful. “Let’s get in back. Here, I’ll give you a hand.”

  “I’m not an old lady.” She looked out the window. “I think I see somebody.”

  “Nobody’s out there.”

  “Marcus, we’re right in front of a house.”

  “Listen to how quiet it is.” There was a glow in the distance, but around them was an island of dark. “It’s perfect, I tell you.”

  “And I tell you tonight is jinxed. It’s late, too, with all this driving around.”

  “You’re just working me up, aren’t you? Saying yes and then no.”

  She swung around. “What does that mean?”

  “Feminine wiles,” he said. “A little resistance makes the game more exciting.” He understood her perfectly. It was like a dance: he advanced, and she retreated.

  “Feminine wiles? Me! Wendy Barrett using feminine wiles.” She laughed. “This really is incredible, Marcus. If it wasn’t so funny it would be stupid!”

  “Then get in back with me,” he ordered.

  “I’m not playing games, Marcus.”

  He climbed into the front seat, had the impulse to bite her, and kissed her hard.

  She pulled back. “This is really bad. Why do you put on so much pressure? It used to be fun. Now I feel there’s only one thing on your mind. Do it, do it, do it! Like a couple of monkeys.”

  “That’s right.” He could have been clever and denied it was true, but he was too angry. “Sex is what I’m thinking about. You’re thinking about it too,” he said.

  “Yes, but not every minute!”

  She was so righteous. “That’s a lot of bull. You never minded before. It’s the end, isn’t it. A change in policy. It’s the Cold War again. Say it, Wendy. Quit crapping around and say it.”

  “What are you talking about? The end? Why is it always the end with you? Every time we have an argument, it’s the end, the end.”

  Shut up, he muttered to himself. He started the engine and spun the car around. He didn’t realize how out of control he was. He misjudged the width of the road and scraped the curb. It sounded as if the whole side of the car was being ripped open. He jumped out and ran around the side of the car, but couldn’t see anything. Wendy got out, too. He felt the rough place where the paint had been scraped off.

  “That’s it,” he said. “That’s the end. Once Sally sees this, I’ll never get the car again.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Wendy said. “Just some paint. Tell her you’ll pay to have it fixed.”

  It was this whole stinking evening. Running around like rabbits, then the cop, then fighting with Wendy, and now this. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  “No,” she said, “let’s make up. The whole evening’s been a downer. Let’s do something we like. You want to?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do. Let’s go to the Pie Shop.”

  A movie crowd filled the restaurant, but they found a table in back. There was a gang of shrieking kids at a nearby table.

  “What do you think of this place?” Wendy said. “Do you think this is a good place to make out?”

  He looked around. “I don’t know.”

  “Perfect!” Wendy said, mocking Marcus.

  They both started to giggle. He reached under the table and rubbed her knees.

  They were friends again, that was easy, but he was right about the car. There was no more borrowing his mother’s car after that evening.

  25

  Wendy and Marcus decided to bike out to Green Lake early on Memorial Day so they could spend the day together, before Marcus went to work. He’d been working for more than a week now at Nadia’s Market, part-time, from four in the afternoon to nine at night.

  It was a perfect day, not a cloud in the sky. Marcus had rolled his bathing suit and towel in a small blanket, and on the way they stopped and bought a long Italian bread, milk, cheese, and pickles. Wendy wanted Sicilian black olives, and Marcus, a frozen Sara Lee chocolate cake. Early as it was, the park was crowded, so after they swam they climbed up the hill, leaving their bikes chained below.

  “Remember the Isabel story?” Marcus said. “Sweeny liked it and gave it to a friend of his on the newspaper, who’s an editor. Maybe they’ll publish it in the weekend supplement.”

  “When will you know?” Wendy said. “Call me the minute you find out.”

  They set out their blanket on top of the hill near a clump of cedars, then unpacked the food. The pickles were sour, the milk warm, and the chocolate cake runny, but they ate everything except a little bit of the cake and bread.

  “This is a good place,” Marcus said. “Good” being a euphemism.

  “Good,” Wendy agreed. “Private. Nice.”

  They wrapped up in the blanket. He was eager; it had been a while. Hidden under the blanket, they kissed. Marcus unhooked Wendy’s bikini. They peeked out, and went under the blanket again. “If anyone comes,” Wendy said, “we’ll tell them we’re changing the film in the camera.”

  Afterward they finished the last of the cake and bread. Marcus had his head in Wendy’s lap, looking up at the sky. Wendy pinched his cheeks and kissed him. “Umm, I like those cute chubby cheeks.”

  He must have slept, because when he woke the sky had begun to cloud. Lines of luscious fat clouds bumped each other like fat thighs and breasts. He began to daydream about Karen. Nothing serious. He’d be strolling around, and they’d meet. He’d have his shirt open, some beads around his neck, showing a lot of chest, a soft fedora hat cocked over one eye …

  She’d come up … see him … He’d look her right in the eyes, a suggestive look, a look that would tell her everything. He knew. None of those men she hung around with knew any more than he did. He’d just touch her arm and then he’d walk off. That’s all.

  “What are you smiling about?” Wendy said, stroking his head.

  “Karen,” he said and knew the minute he said it that it had been a mistake. He made it worse explaining. “I was just daydreaming, what if I ran into her?” He said too much. “It’s a funny idea, isn’t it?”

  “How often do you think about Karen?”

  “I never think about her.”

  “Marcus! You’ve just been thinking about her!”

  “Okay, sometimes.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. What are you getting so mad about?”

  “Do you think about her when we’re doing it?”

  “No, no!”

  “You do, don’t you?”

  “No!”

  “I’m just a substitute for Karen to you.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “What if I told you I’m dreaming about Alec, going up to him and letting him know that anytime he’s interested … Would you think that’s just a little funny daydream?”

  “Are you thinking about him?”

  “No! I’m thinking about you.” Her eyes filled with tears. She broke away, looked for a tissue, then wiped her eyes on the blanket.

  “I thought you’d laugh.” He defended himself lamely, aware that he was still saying the wrong thing. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he said. “Let’s forget it.” He tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away.

  “Don’t. Don’t. Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be pawed, Marcus. You don’t own me.”

  “I never said I did.”

  “But that’s what you think.”

  He couldn’t get things straight
. Whatever he said only made it worse. It was like falling down a slippery chute, going down and down. He couldn’t stop himself.

  “You don’t care about me,” she said. “It’s just lie down! Everytime you come around—Lie down!” She jumped up, left him there on the hill, and ran back to the beach. By the time he came down she was gone, and so was her bike.

  He saw Wendy a few times in school, but she avoided him. When he called her, she was always “busy” or “out” or would “call back.” What was going on? So they had had a dumb little fight. They’d had fights before. What he’d said was so trivial, a slip. It didn’t mean what she thought it did. He was determined to speak to her, and went over to her house, one afternoon, before going in to work.

  Wendy was there, on the side lawn, swinging a couple of kids. She was bareheaded, her hair fluffed out and full of light. He hesitated. What was the best approach? Casual? Act like nothing had happened? Or be straightforward, get right to the point. Wendy, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill!

  “There’s Marcus,” one of the kids yelled. Wendy glanced around.

  “Hi,” he said, approaching, smiling, swinging his shoulders, full of bravado, but somewhat worried, unsure of how she’d react.

  “Hi,” she said, as if she’d just swallowed a fly.

  Marcus leaned on the bars of the swing set. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay.”

  “You watching all these kids? Where’s your aunt? How come you don’t answer the phone?”

  “When?”

  “I called you the other day. Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Sally wants you to come over and eat some night.”

  She gave him a look. He talked but she wasn’t helping him. It made everything he said sound empty, like a lot of blah-blah, as if he were trying to blow up a balloon with a hole in it. The minute he stopped talking he felt the balloon collapse. “Want to do something Saturday?”

  “No.” She gave the little girl in the swing a push.

  “Want me to swing her a while?”

  “No.”

  Here he was trying to make up their quarrel. What did she want? What was the matter with her?

  “Why not? Come on.” He pushed her, gave her an angry, aggressive, confident grin. “Let a man do this.” He was going to make her talk to him whether she wanted to or not. He pushed the swing. “Whee! We’re not still having an argument, are we? I’m not mad.”