Эд Макбейн - Last Summer

Rhoda listened.

I told her my ambition was to become a lawyer, that once my father had served as a trial juror and when the trial was over — he was not allowed to tell us anything about it while it was in progress — he had come home and described all of the courtroom action (he really told stories beautifully when he was sober — I did not mention that to Rhoda), and then and there I decided what I wanted to do with my life, which was become a famous trial lawyer. I told her that sometimes I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and pointed my finger at myself and began asking myself tricky questions. She didn’t laugh until I did, and then she laughed only tentatively until she was certain she was supposed to. She kept looking at my face.

I told her, oh Jesus, I told her everything I could think of. I told her about a collection of matchbooks I had once started, and how I saved three thousand and twenty-four of them until I got bored and set fire to them once in the gutter outside our building, just a huge pile of three thousand and twenty-four match-books going up in smoke, poof, and again she waited until I laughed before she did. I told her about the gull we had rescued and how it had been the start of a very special relationship between Sandy and David and me, and about how we had trained him, but I did not tell her what finally happened to the gull, and when she asked what became of him, I lied. He flew away, I said. I did not feel strange lying about the gull. What had happened with the gull was something between Sandy and David and me, and I could not have told Rhoda about it without betraying their confidence. I told her that Sandy was one of the greatest girls I’d ever met in my life, and that David was the closest friend I had, even though I never saw him in the city. It was odd, I said, how our friendship survived each winter, how we were able to pick it up again every summer, almost as though we’d never been apart. I told her I suspected the same thing would apply to Sandy, and when she suddenly looked hurt, I said that of course it would apply to her as well, now that she was one of us. I told her how much I loved swimming, and how pleased I was that she was learning so rapidly, how proud it made me feel whenever I saw her actually swimming around the cove. And this was only the beginning, I said (I couldn’t seem to stop talking), we were going to teach her how to swim underwater, how to use the snorkel and mask, and she’d be surprised at what was under the sea, an entirely new world that she probably never knew existed. (Are there crabs? she asked. I’m afraid of crabs.)

“Rhoda,” I said, “you’re afraid of too many things,” and I kissed her again, and when we drew apart she looked up at me, and touched my face with her open hand, and then swiftly lowered her eyes.

We left the forest at about three o’clock.

Sandy and David were on the beach, listening to the radio.

When they saw us coming, Sandy sat up and grinned, and said, “You’re bleeding, Peter,” meaning I had lipstick on my face, which I knew wasn’t true because Rhoda wasn’t wearing any.

“Gee,” I said, “thanks, Sandy,” and I jumped on her where she was lying on the blanket and gave her a noisy wet kiss on her mouth. Then David and I carried her down to the water, screaming and giggling and kicking, and I held her arms while he held her legs and we swung her out and dumped her. She came up struggling to keep on her bikini top, and then she chased us all over the beach until we were exhausted.

Rhoda sat on the blanket, watching us.

Sandy’s caller opened the telephone conversation in Spanish.

“Buenos dias,” he said.

“Buenos dias,” Sandy replied.

“Está Sandra, por favor?” he said.

“La soy,” Sandy said in hesitant Spanish.

“Ah, bueno!” the caller said. “ Aqui el Señor Aníbal Gomez. Su número de teléfono ...”

“ No hablo español bien, ” Sandy said.

“Sí, verdad,” Gomez said. “Usted no habla más que el inglés, el chino, y el griego,” he said, and laughed.

“Por favor, puede usted hablar inglés?” Sandy said.

“Sí, sí,” Gomez said, “I am sorry to speak Spanish, when it informs me here that you speak fluent Chinese and Greek.”

“What?” Sandy said.

“I have received your number,” he said, “and so I am calling.”

“What?” she said.

“It says that we have been chosen,” Gomez said. “By the machine.”

“Oh!” Sandy said. “Yes, yes, of course. ”

“Ah, now you understand?” Gomez said.

“Yes, yes, certainly,” she said, and covered the mouthpiece with one hand and said, “It’s my date.”

“What?” David said.

“Shhh,” she warned, and then said, “Yes, Mr. Gomez, how are you?”

“I am fine, and you?” he said.

“Fine, thank you.”

“Bueno,” he said. “Sandra, es usted una morena?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hair is black?”

“Oh, yes, yes, it is,” Sandy said.

“ Bueno . You also have blue eyes?”

“Yes, I have.”

“ Bueno . The machine says you wish to meet a Puerto Rican gentleman, which I am.”

“That’s right.”

“Who is very bright like you, which I am.”

“Good,” Sandy said.

“Also, I am five feet seven and one inches tall, with black hair and brown eyes, is that true?”

“That’s certainly true,” Sandy said, and stifled a giggle.

“How tall are you? ”

“Five-four,” Sandy said.

“I wish to see you,” he said.

“Fine,” she answered. “When?”

“I had hoped this Saturday night, if that would be nice for you.”

“That would be very nice,” she said, and again covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

“Where is this number?” he asked.

“Well, I’m on Greensward,” she said, “but there’s not too much to do here. Perhaps I can meet you on the mainland.”

“Please speak more slowly,” he said.

“The mainland. Do you have a car?” she asked.

“ Sí, tengo un carro . Yes, I have.”

“Well, fine,” Sandy said, “get a pencil, and I’ll tell you how to get here.”

“More slowly, por favor, ” he said, and she repeated what she had just said, and went on to give him a detailed auto route from Manhattan. They then spent another five minutes settling on a time and place to meet over on the mainland, deciding on 6:30 at the ferry slip, and then Gomez said, “I look forward to it, Sandra,” and Sandy said, “Me, too, Aníbal,” and he said, “Good,” and hung up.

“Well, I guess I have a date for Saturday night,” Sandy said. She was lying full length on her bed, and she rolled over now to replace the telephone receiver, and then began giggling. Rhoda, who was reading in the floppy armchair opposite the bed, looked up from her paperback and said, “What?”

“I said I have a date for Saturday night.”

“Who with?” Rhoda said, and I realized she hadn’t heard a word of the telephone conversation. David and I, who had been playing chess on the floor, had of course heard only Sandy’s half of the conversation, so she promptly filled us in, using a Spanish accent that was hilarious.

“You’re not going , are you?” Rhoda asked, appalled.

“Of course I am!”

“I don’t think you should,” Rhoda said.

“Why not?”

“It isn’t right.”

“Here comes Mother Hubbard again,” Sandy said, and rolled her eyes.

“Well, it isn’t right,” Rhoda insisted. “That poor man is probably lonely and...”

“Rhoda, let’s not make him into one of the hundred neediest, okay?”