Russell Hoban - Her Name Was Lola

‘Better a small heartbreak now,’ says his mind.

‘When she comes around that corner,’ says Max, ‘my heart will leap up at the sight of her. Then I’ll tell her it’s all over.’

‘Are you in love with her?’ says his mind.

‘I’m so comfortable with her!’ says Max. ‘I don’t know if it’s love but we really like each other.’

There she is now, coming around the distant corner. Max’s heart leaps up and so does the rest of him. He waves to Lula Mae and she waves back as she walks towards him.

‘Ah!’ sighs a nearby drinker.

Max’s eyes fill with Lula Mae. He tries to imagine her as a little girl with pigtails, sitting on her father’s lap while he reads her Lovecraft’s The Call of Cthulhu . His throat aches.

‘Hi, Cowboy,’ she says.

‘Hi,’ says Max. Big hug, big kiss. ‘What’ll you have?’

‘Same as you,’ says Lula Mae. When Max returns from the bar they lift their glasses to each other.

‘Here’s how,’ says Max.

‘I think we already know how,’ says Lula Mae. ‘I’m pregnant.’

Max notices an aeroplane high overhead. Is it trailing a banner that says THIS IS IT? He looks back at Lula Mae. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ he says. ‘ L’haim ! To life!’

‘ L’haim ,’ says Lula Mae. ‘You think I should have it?’

‘Of course you should have it,’ he says. ‘A child from you and me! Wow.’

‘You’re not going to ask me if I’m sure you’re the father?’

‘If I weren’t, you’d have told me,’ says Max.

‘You just got a foot taller,’ says Lula Mae.

‘There’s more to me than Lesser,’ says Max. Big hug, big kiss, broad grins, more schmoozing, two more pints. ‘So what’s our next move?’ he says.

‘What do you mean?’ says Lula Mae.

‘Well, some people when they have a child, they all live together and it’s a family,’ says Max. ‘Sometimes the parents get married.’

‘Are you proposing to me?’

‘I’ve been listening to the words coming out of my mouth,’ says Max, ‘and I don’t really know what I’m doing.’

‘Take deep breaths and calm down. It’s not as if my father’s coming after you with a shotgun.’

‘I know that,’ says Max, ‘and I’m calm. What do you think we should do?’

‘Double scotches,’ says Lula Mae. ‘My shout. This requires careful thought.’

21 March 1997. Morning of the vernal equinox. Max is waiting on his front steps with a sleeping bag and a small rucksack. At ten o’clock Lola pulls up in a seriously green E-type convertible with a black top. ‘Hi,’ she says.

‘Hi,’ says Max. ‘Nice ride.’

‘Birthday present from Daddy. It’s a ’62, three point eight litre. They made them with bigger engines later but Daddy says this one’s a Stradivarius and it does a ton without breathing hard.’

‘I’m breathing hard just looking at it,’ says Max.

‘This colour is British Racing Green,’ says Lola.

‘A fast colour,’ says Max.

‘Nothing illegal today,’ says Lola. She notes the sleeping bag and smiles. ‘Expecting to get lucky?’

‘You never know,’ says Max.

‘Put it in the boot with mine,’ says Lola. The picnic hamper takes up most of the boot but Max jams his things in and sinks into the leather upholstery beside Lola. They kiss good morning, the Jaguar roars and they’re off. Up the North End Road, through West Kensington, on to the Great West Road, Hogarth Roundabout, and the M4. Motorway miles moving towards them, passing under them, the Jaguar purring sweetly at seventy and sometimes more. ‘When is your birthday?’ says Max.

‘Today,’ says Lola. ‘I’m a vernal-equinoctial kind of girl. My first quarter-century.’

‘You never told me,’ says Max. ‘I’d have got you a present.’

‘You’re my present,’ says Lola. She kisses her fingers and touches them on his lips.

‘We’re heading west,’ says Max. ‘Where to?’

Lola smiles and says, ‘You’ll see.’ The Jaguar swallows the miles as the names of towns grow large in front of them, small behind them. Exits beckon here and there with forceful arrows. Max and his mind are working on what he’ll say to Lola. O God, she’s so beautiful, so aristocratic, so deep, so wild at heart, so everything he longed for just a short time ago. Longs for still but …

‘Lola,’ says his mind as he rehearses possible openings, ‘I don’t know how to say this but I guess the simplest way is the best. Lula Mae is pregnant and I’m the father.’

‘You’re very quiet,’ says Lola.

‘I fall into a travel trance sometimes,’ says Max.

‘Me too,’ says Lola, ‘except when I’m driving.’ She’s humming that Dusty Springfield song. ‘But if you stay,’ says her humming, ‘I’ll make you a day like no day that’s been or ever will be …’

‘Lola,’ says Max’s mind, ‘the days and nights I’ve had with you have been like no other days and nights I’ve ever known …’

‘Sickening,’ says Max. ‘Brutal was better.’

‘ … the pebbles according to size,’ says Lola.

‘What?’ says Max.

‘Chesil Beach,’ says Lola. ‘Ever been there?’

‘No. I’ve read about it though — it’s a shingle storm beach where the waves sort the pebbles according to size.’

‘That’s what I just said,’ says Lola. ‘It’s not far from Dorchester. Did you know about Veästa?’

‘No.’

‘Chesil Beach sea monster, last seen in 1995.’

‘There’ll always be monsters,’ says Max. ‘God made them along with Virginia Mayo and … Chesil Beach.’ He was going to say Lula Mae Flowers but stopped in time.

‘Events,’ says Max’s mind, ‘sort people according to size. It seems I’m one of the smaller ones.’

‘What events are you talking about?’ says Lola.

‘Was I speaking out loud?’ says Max.

‘Unless I’m hearing voices,’ says Lola. ‘I say again, what events?’

‘Just reviewing my life,’ says Max, ‘as a drowning man might do.’

‘Max, are you drowning?’

‘I’m fine,’ says Max.

‘How’s the writing going?’ says Lola.

‘On the novel front,’ says Max, ‘I may or may not have a protagonist but so far no Page One. On the children’s side there’s Charlotte Prickles waiting for a new story which I haven’t got. That’s two No Page Ones.’

Lola puts a sympathetic hand on Max’s thigh. ‘That’s happened before though, hasn’t it?’

‘Many, many times,’ says Max.

‘And you always work through it and you manage to live pretty well off your writing,’ says Lola.

‘Thanks to Charlotte,’ says Max. Sudden vision of her lying flattened in the road. No, no, please.

‘Those books still bring in royalties!’ says Lola.

‘Oh yes, I’ve done seven and they’re all alive and well. That’s how I can afford to write novels. This is the first time you’ve asked me about my finances.’

‘Well, you know, one day I might want to introduce you to my parents and I’ve got to be prepared.’

‘I’ve seen photographs of your father in The Times ,’ says Max. ‘He looks like the last days of the Raj.’

‘Somewhat to the right of that, actually,’ says Lola.

‘And I’ve seen photos of your mother in Tatler , so I know where you got your looks.’

‘The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ says Lola.

‘Speaking of fruit, I could use an apple or a banana right now,’ says Max.

‘No snacks,’ says Lola. ‘We don’t get to have the picnic until we’re on top of where we’re going.’

‘Maiden Castle?’ says Max.