I Love You, Stupid! Page 3

  “Worse than I ever was.” He embraced his mother.

  “Am I going to get to see Wendy sometime?” she asked.

  Oh, god, he’d almost forgotten. He had to call Wendy. How was he going to get around that? “I guess so.”

  “Tell her I want to see her. Tell her to come over this weekend.”

  “Tell her yourself, Sally. I’m not her answering service.”

  She twisted his ear. “No wonder I feel like wringing your neck sometimes.”

  “Who?” he said. “Lovable me?”

  4

  “Hello, Wendy. Guess who?”

  “Who?”

  “Your friendly neighborhood pervert. No, it’s that clean-cut lad.”

  “Marcus?”

  “The one and only. You busy tonight? How’d you like to go to an audition with me?” He’d been sailing along on his own wind up to now, but now the wind died down. The last time he’d asked a girl to go out she’d said, Try again next year.

  “A friend of mine is trying out for a part with the Down City Players. It’ll be interesting.”

  “Well,” Wendy said, “I was going to wash my hair.”

  “You can wash your hair another time.”

  “I don’t know. I might have to go shopping with my aunt.”

  “Look,” he said, “is it what happened today? Is that why you don’t want to go with me? You still sore about that?”

  “No, I’m not. I’ve forgotten about that.”

  “Good, then I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

  “Well, okay, make it a half hour.”

  Marcus wore jeans, a blue turtleneck, and the same boots he wore everywhere. No affectation. He’d considered wearing a plain gold chain, but decided against it.

  “Whose car?” Wendy said as she got in. She was all in green: green cords, a light green embroidered shirt, and a green Army fatigue cap. She was smiling, but he felt a little sweaty with her, unsure, and he started talking too much.

  “It’s my mother’s car. I only got it after I told her who I was picking up. Otherwise, I could have hoofed it.”

  “Your mother doesn’t like to lend you her car?”

  “This is the way she thinks I drive.” He messed up his hair and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth. He was sorry the minute he did it. He was acting like a juvenile. Off on the wrong foot again.

  “So who’s this friend?” she said.

  “Alec Canale, a terrific actor. Wait’ll you see. If he weren’t a damn good friend, I’d never show up for this audition. Our Town. I’ve already seen the bloody play four times. I saw it on TV, then when the junior class put it on, and over at the college once.”

  “That’s only three times,” Wendy said.

  “Picky, picky.” Was this the way it was going to be from now on, a dueling match? Wendy had given him that big smile when she got into the car, but now he wasn’t so sure. Was she one of those people who never forgot or forgave?

  At Down City they found a seat in back in the old synogogue that had been turned into a theater. Pfeff was already there. Marcus whispered introductions. Wendy leaned forward with that big Barrett smile. Pfeff was wearing a No Nukes T-shirt, and she said she was against it too. Pfeff, who wore glasses and had a nose like a mole, gave her a pained smile. He didn’t have a good word to say for any girl. He sank back in his seat next to Marcus and muttered, “Marc-ass, you have hit rock bottom. Where’d you dig that up?”

  Marcus gave him an elbow. “Don’t talk, you blind bat. It’s a friend.”

  “You could use some enemies.”

  The director, who was sitting in front, called for quiet, then started calling out the actors. Marcus leaned forward. The empty, poorly lit stage filled him with anticipation. Most of the people trying out were not half bad, but Pfeff was turning thumbs down on everyone. “Hand me a tomato, Marcus.” “Throw that one to the lions.”

  Several girls tried out for Emily’s part. Terri was one of the last. When she came out on the stage, Pfeff started hopping around. “Oh, oh, look at those monuments. Capital, capital! She gets the part.”

  Terri, playing Emily, looked around hesitantly, her hands clasped. “I just can’t sleep yet, Papa. The moonlight’s so won-der-ful.”

  Marcus thought she was good, but because Pfeff was there he said, “A little overdone maybe.”

  “What are you talking about?” Pfeff said. “I told you she gets the part. With an ass like that, who cares if she can act?”

  Marcus glanced at Wendy, who was sitting with her lips pressed together. “Wait’ll you see Alec,” he said to her. Had he made a mistake bringing her? She wasn’t going to like anything. But when Alec appeared on stage he couldn’t help bragging. “That’s Alec. Now you’re going to see something special.”

  Alec had parted his hair in the middle and hooked a pair of red suspenders to his white pants. “Emily, I’m glad you spoke to me about that—that fault in my character.” His voice, theatrical, rich, and resonant, sent a shiver down Marcus’s spine. “Do you like that?” he said to Wendy. “I told you he was good. You glad you came now?”

  “Shh.” She folded her legs under her and leaned forward.

  “I always made sure where you were sitting on the bleachers,” Alec-playing-George said, “and who you were with, and for three days now I’ve been trying to walk home with you.”

  After Alec’s performance, they all three applauded loudly. People up front looked around. “I’m splitting,” Pfeff said. “Our buddy’s too good for this decrepit capitalist dream stuff.” He nodded to Wendy. “See you.”

  “I don’t like your friend,” Wendy said after Pfeff left. “I don’t like his attitude toward women.”

  “Yeah, well.” Marcus’s loyalties were divided. “He can be rough. Underneath he’s really shy.”

  As they waited for Alec out front on the broad concrete steps, Marcus began to feel uneasy remembering how he’d told Alec about the girl he’d fallen on top of and here he was a few hours later with Wendy. Alec was going to put it together, and maybe say something, and then Wendy would really be convinced that Marcus was an all-American creep. But if Alec caught it, he didn’t say anything. He looked at Wendy, looked at Marcus, and then it was all Wendy. “So you’re coming to old Sherwood High?”

  “Just this year.” Wendy twirled her cap. “Then I’m going to the Forestry School.”

  “Really? Going to be a lumberjack? I’m joking,” he said quickly, and pressed her arm. “You don’t look like a lumberjack.” He really turned on the charm: a lot of eye and hand contact, interested, asking questions. Marcus felt around for his pipe. Alec could touch a girl without making a fool of himself.

  “There’s more to forestry than cutting trees,” Wendy said.

  “I know it. It was a callow remark. What aspect of forestry you interested in?”

  “Basically, creating green environments in cities.”

  “Super, that’s where we need it. I’m into that. The environment’s a mess. Look at this place.” He kicked a white plastic cup aside. “We could use a Green Tree demonstration project right here.” He snapped his silver cigarette case open and offered Wendy a cigarette.

  “I don’t smoke,” she said almost regretfully. And then “Oh, why not?” She took a cigarette, but just held it. Her eyes lingered on Alec. “I’m sure you’re going to get the part. You’re so relaxed on stage, so natural.”

  “Well …” Alec blew the smoke away from Wendy. “I hate tryouts. I feel like I’m on the block. Are you interested in theater?”

  “I am now.” She was glowing.

  Just then Terri and another girl came flying down the stairs. “We got it,” Terri screamed. “We got the parts!” She kissed Alec on the mouth. “You doll! We did it! I’m Emily and you’re George.”

  Now the other girl kissed Alec. Marcus recognized her as one of the Emilys. “I’m sorry you missed, Pam,” Terri kept saying.

  “I don’t care,” Pam said, “as long as I have a part
. I don’t even care if I get to be the dead girl in the cemetery.”

  The two girls pulled Alec back up the stairs. “Vanderhoff wants to talk to you.”

  “Congratulations,” Wendy called.

  Alec turned back. “Wendy, sorry I have to rush off. I’ll see you in school. Let’s stay in touch. I like talking to you.”

  As they walked to the car Marcus said, a little gloomily, “You just made a friend.” Terri hadn’t even looked at him.

  Wendy put her arm through Marcus’s. “Two friends. Met an old friend, and made a new one.”

  “All’s forgiven?”

  “Oh, that. Of course. I’m glad you called me. It’s been a super evening.” A flicker of a smile crossed her face. She rolled the cigarette between her fingers. “Alec’s got a girlfriend, I suppose?”

  “Are you serious, Barrett? You saw those two girls. Alec can’t keep the girls off.”

  “I’m not surprised.” She dropped the unlit cigarette into her pocket. “He’s such a powerhouse.” There was a faraway look on her face.

  Marcus busied himself with his pipe. Jesus, he thought, Alec has made another conquest.

  5

  “I want you to drive Wendy home after supper,” Sally said.

  “Do I get the car?”

  “I don’t want you to take her on your bicycle.”

  Wendy had come over to see Sally and was still in the apartment when Marcus got home. They all ate supper together, then Marcus and Wendy left.

  At first it was nothing—Wendy telling him how much she liked Sally. His mother was the greatest, he agreed, but Wendy didn’t have to live with her. Marcus was a little low, on an end-of-the-weekend downer. The weekend was gone, and what had he accomplished? Just as he’d feared, the assignment for Sweeny still hung over him. As soon as he got Wendy home, he was going to knuckle down and do that work.

  The chitchat died quickly. Wendy fell silent, and so did he.

  “Here you are,” he said, stopping front of her house. “Got you here in one piece.”

  “You’re a good driver.” Wendy looked around for her book and checked to see if the photos Sally had given her were inside. “Did you see these?” She handed the photos to Marcus. There were snapshots of Wendy and Grace, of Sally and Marcus, and one that embarrassed him of Wendy and him standing by a swing. He must have been ten or eleven then, in his fat phase. He had his shirt off and you could see the fat around his breasts—two tiny breasts like a girl’s. He wished she didn’t have that photo, but he handed it back without comment.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Wendy said, opening the door, but then she just sat there. “I hate going in,” she said. “They’re watching television. I can see the light. I always feel in the way.”

  “I thought you liked your aunt?”

  “I do, I love her, and she’s very good to me.” Wendy let the door shut. “They always ask me to come and sit with them, but they’re perfectly happy being alone. I never realized how lonely it would be living away from home. Even though I can’t live with my mother, I miss her. Are you ever lonely, Marcus? Probably not. You have so many friends.”

  “Not lonely, exactly,” Marcus said. There were moments when he sensed the loneliness at the edge of everything. Without knowing exactly why, he’d always connected it to growing up without his father. “There are things I don’t say to anybody.”

  “That’s the lonely part isn’t it?” Wendy said. “The things you keep to yourself.” They sat in silence. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful,” Wendy said after a moment, “if we could be the kind of friends who can say anything to each other? Do you think we could, Marcus?”

  At that moment he thought so. “Yes,” he said. The things they were talking about surprised him. Real feelings. It touched him, and he felt very close to her.

  When he got home he thought he would work. Sally was asleep, the apartment was dark: it was a perfect time. But instead of working he went up on the roof, and smoked his pipe, and looked up at the sky. Later he sat in the kitchen reading the National Lampoon, and eating leftover lamb stew.

  He woke the next morning with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sweeny’s assignment due today, and he hadn’t written a word. He groaned. He was a born-in-the-flesh procrastinator: everything put off for tomorrow. Well, there was no tomorrow. Sweeny waited. It was today or die.

  It was still early. He jumped up, found his notebook, and got back in bed. Think about a character, a sincere, self-centered maniac who thought—no, who knew—he was the greatest, a guy without doubts, or questions, or uncertainties. Vic. Victor Gorman. Good.

  He wrote it down. How would Victor be with someone like Bev Kruger? Marcus just had to think girl and King George was awake. Old Faithful … Old Reliable … Old Stupid.

  Work, he ordered himself. Act your age. You’ve got an assignment to do. You’re too old for this kind of stuff but it just felt too good. Oh, god, oh god … oh spit … oh damn.…

  He came back to earth, aware of the antiseptic smell, the warmth, the slackness in his belly. Out of bed, muttering to himself, he changed everything. Seventeen, and still jerking off like a maniac. He wasn’t proud of it. Procrastinator. Masturbator. Everything wrong with him had a Latin name, like a disease. Couldn’t get a girl. What was the Latin word for that?

  He thought about the piece for Sweeny all the way to school, then started writing in homeroom.

  “Hail, Rosenbloom!” Gordy dropped his books on Marcus’s desk like a bombshell. “What’re you doing?”

  Marcus grunted. He kept trying to work, but it was impossible. During first period trig he couldn’t do a thing, and after class he grabbed Gordy by his tie and pulled his clever custardy face close to his “Tell Bastido I can’t come to chem lab. Tell him I’m sick. If he wants to check on me, I’ll be in the john.”

  Gordy adjusted his tie. “Really sick? Or malingering, as usual?”

  Malingering: more Latin. “I’ll be in the john till Sweeny’s assignment is done.”

  He found a stall and jammed the door shut with his knees. This was the only place to write: a tiny space, uninteresting, colorless walls, a door he could lock, nobody to talk to or see. People came and went. The john filled with smoke, toilets flushed, doors banged, guys yelled.

  At lunchtime his friends came looking for him. “Marcus? Marcus Aurelius Rosenbloom?” Alec called in a stagy bellow. “Is that you in there?”

  “Maybe he got flushed away,” Pfeff said.

  Marcus stuck out his toe. “This is a study hall. Shut up!”

  “What are you doing in there?”

  “Laying eggs. What do you think? Working.”

  “Genius at work,” Gordy said. “Aren’t you going to eat, genius?”

  “Bring me two milks, an energy bar, and a couple of Hostess Twinkies.”

  Right on time he walked into Sweeny’s class and handed him five closely written pages, scratched out in places and a little wrinkled. “That’s it,” Marcus said, smoothing out the pages. “Are you going to read it now?”

  “Now?”

  “Well … after class.”

  “I’ll get to it as soon as I can, Mr. Rosenbloom.”

  Marcus caught Bev Kruger’s eye and winked, then sat opposite her, swinging his leg, feeling irresistible, full of genius, love, and lust. “Bev, now that I’ve written a masterpiece, you and I ought to do something to celebrate.”

  Bev wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’d like your idea of a celebration.”

  “Bev!” He put his hand to his heart. “I am sincere.” He tried to make his eyes say, I love you madly, I love you passionately. Oh, he did love Bev, loved that lush garden of a body.

  The class started. The fire inside Marcus didn’t simmer down. Every time Sweeny said something, Marcus had a comment, a remark, a question. He was in his fast-talking, trigger-mouthed mood. “The creative process,” he announced, “is sexual. Sex sublimated.” At another point he said, “The creator has to believe in himself. Do you th
ink God had doubts?” And it didn’t stop there. After class he followed Bev from the room, still talking, as high as if he’d been drinking.

  “I could follow you forever,” he said at her shoulder, enthralled by the way her red jumper outlined her figure. He had the urge to bite her bare freckled arms. He felt the way he did when he stood on top of a building and had the urge to step off. He was going to do it. He bent toward her. She leaned away. “Let’s speak of love and passion,” he said. “Let’s squeeze into your locker together and see what happens.”

  “Go bother somebody else, will you?” Her freckles blazed. “What’s the matter with you today?”

  He had to stop. He’d gone too far. He was sailing off across the waters and she was still sitting on the shore. Stop! he told himself, and he stopped—almost. “Farewell, lovely Beverly,” he said, and with a lingering backward glance he strode down the hall whistling the Colonel Bogie march through his teeth.

  6

  Marcus caught sight of Wendy outside school. “Hey, Wendy!” She waved but kept walking, and he had to run to catch up. It was Wednesday, and he hadn’t seen her since Sunday night when he’d driven her home, but the talk, the warmth had stayed with him. Something had been established, a layer of suspicion had been peeled away. They were solidly friends.

  “Hey, Wendy, wait up.”

  “Your friend, Alec!” she burst out. “He walked right by me in the hall as if I was invisible.”

  “When?”

  “Today, just a little while ago, outside the biology room.”

  “He must have been thinking about something.”

  “I was as close as I am to you!”

  “He has trouble seeing sometimes.”

  “Come on, Marcus, he just forgot who I was.”

  “Oh, no, he was asking me all about you. How I knew you? Where you were from?”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I told him you were my friend.”

  “Your invisible friend.”

  “I told him I’ve known you a long time.”