Evan Hunter - Sons

“Nothing in town,” he said to me, “and nothing here, either. What’s a man supposed to do?”

“I’m going to sleep,” I said, and started to take a step around him. “No, hold it,” he said, and gestured with a slight jerk of his head to where a girl sat alone on the side of the room. “The chaperone,” Ace said. “A sweet young mother. Come on.”

She was sitting some thirty-five feet from where we stood near the entrance doors, a blond girl wearing a white pique dress and brown-and-white spectator pumps. Her long legs were tanned, and she kept them primly crossed, but one foot was jiggling in time to the music. She looked to be about seventeen or so, and I could not understand how Ace had figured her to be a mother, young or otherwise. Besides, a revised quick count of the available nookie had downgraded my original estimate to perhaps forty girls in all (including the blond in the white dress) meaning that the odds tonight were approximately three to one, more than I felt like coping with after a hard day’s flying. But Ace Gibson clapped me on the shoulder, which I didn’t like, and burst into a chittering sort of expectant laughter, which I also didn’t like, and then hooked his arm through mine and led me over to where the girl was sitting.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said to her, “my name is Ace Gibson. This is my buddy...” and paused.

“Will Tyler,” I said.

“How do you do?” she said. “Ah’m Hattie Rolfe.”

“Hello, Hattie,” Ace said, “would you mind if we joined you?”

“Ah’m not permitted to dance, you know,” she said. “Ah’m one of the chaperones.”

“Well then,” Ace said, as I stared at him in amazement, “we’ll just sit and chat, if that’s all right with you, ma’am.”

“Thet’d suit me jes’ fine,” she said, and smiled.

Up close, I was beginning to notice a few things about her that Ace must have spotted immediately from the doorway. She was definitely not seventeen, though how he had been able to tell that from a distance of thirty-five feet was beyond my understanding. Could he have seen the crow’s feet around her eyes, could he have possibly noticed the wedding band and small diamond ring on her left hand, could he have detected from such a distance that the knitting in her lap was a partially completed khaki-colored sleeveless pullover. (Was there a soldier husband overseas someplace, Rooms for Rent, the possibility of a permanent-party arrangement with an experienced woman of at least twenty-seven or — eight years old?) How could he have surmised all this from thirty-five feet away? I looked at him appreciatively. He was now telling the girl that he had spent some time in Mississippi before coming here to Columbus, having taken his Basic Training in Biloxi, and suddenly he asked me where I’d gone through Basic, and almost before I could say, “Nashville,” he turned again to Hattie and said, “Not much of a crowd here tonight, is there?”

“Well, it ain’t much to holler about,” Hattie said. “I’ll allow that.”

“Will and I were hoping for something a bit more gaysome,” he said, which I assumed was a southern expression because Hattie reacted just as though he’d served her a heaping full platter of chit’lins and pone, laughing helplessly, and all but slapping him on the knee. They were certainly off to a fine roaring start. So promising, in fact, that I decided to go back to the barracks, and was waiting to make my break, when Ace brought me into the conversation again. I realized all at once that the inclusion was deliberate. He truly wanted me to stay. He was not using me as a straight man, the way some guys did while they worked their points with a chick. I felt suddenly and oddly touched.

“Will and I both like Columbus a lot,” he said, “but it’s really difficult, you know, to get to understand a place, isn’t that right, Will?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “it’s really difficult.”

“Especially when we get into town so infrequently, huh, Will?”

“We don’t get in too often,” I said to Hattie, and grinned stupidly, entirely mindful of how little I was contributing to the discussion, and grateful for Ace’s efforts, and hopeful that he would not think I was a moron.

“Though Sundays are usually free,” he said.

“Unless there’s a cross-country scheduled,” I said.

“Yes, they conic up every now and then,” Ace said.

“Yes,” I said.

“What do you do on Sundays?” Ace asked Hattie, and nodded almost imperceptibly to me, signaling that this was where we were supposed to lead the conversation, get it, Will? Around to where we could find out what this delicious piece of pecan pie did with her Sundays, get it?

“Oh,” I said, and Ace smiled and raised his eyebrows approvingly at the coming of the dawn.

“I work on Sundays,” Hattie said.

“What kind of work do you do?” I asked.

“She must be a movie star,” Ace said.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah.”

“No, I’m not,” Hattie said seriously.

“Of course not,” Ace said. “She’s a fashion model.”

“Not that either,” she said.

“A designer?” I said, and looked at Ace.

“Of what?” Ace asked.

“Dresses?” I said.

“Ladies’ dresses?” Ace said.

“Third floor,” I said, and he burst out laughing.

“No, no,” Hattie said, shaking her head.

“Well, I give up,” Ace said.

“So do I,” I said.

“I’m a waitress,” Hattie said, and shrugged.

“Days or nights?” Ace asked immediately.

“Days. I go on at eight in the morning, and I’m off at four.”

“Look at this little girl,” Ace said. “Slaves all week long in a restaurant...”

“A diner,” Hattie said.

“... a diner, and then comes here on her own free time...”

“I’m off Mondays,” Hattie said.

“... to do her part for the war effort by providing a little bit of cheer for servicemen far from their homes and their loved ones.”

“I’m only here by accident,” Hattie said. “We had to have six chaperones for the girls, and they called me yesterday because one of the women supposed to come got taken to the hospital.”

“Oh, the poor woman,” Ace said.

“What was wrong with her?” I said.

“Nothing,” Hattie said. “She was pregnant, and it got to be her time.”

“Do you know what we’re going to do this Sunday when Hattie leaves the diner?” Ace asked.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re going over to the hospital to visit that poor little old woman who was supposed to chaperone tonight.”

“Wrong,” Ace said. “We’re going to wait on Hattie.”

“You’re going to what?” Hattie said.

“Wait on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to buy a big steak, and then me and my buddy here...”

“Will Tyler,” I said.

“... are going to bring that steak over to your place, Hattie — you do live in Columbus, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “but...”

“... where we’ll cook it and serve it and clean up the kitchen and do the dishes afterwards, without your having to lift a finger all night long. How does that sound to you, Hattie?”

“Okay, I guess, but...”

“No buts, Hattie,” Ace said.

“Well, I guess he wouldn’t mind too much.”

“Who?”

“My husband.”

“I’m sure he’d be pleased to know you’re being so well taken care of,” I said.

“Oh yeah, it isn’t that,” Hattie said.

“Then it’s settled,” Ace said.

“It’s just that he’s usually so tired,” Hattie said.

“Tired? Who?”

“My husband.”

“Tired?” I said.