Robert Coover - Gerald's Party

‘Yes …’

‘Fucked me up politically though. My head was useless, she blew a hole right through it. No will. Everything was body.’ He seemed, guiltily, to savor the thought. I was thinking about that old joke of Charley’s: making it stand up in court … ‘A weird kind of connection. For me anyhow. The illusion of … owning time …’

‘I know. We have the past, we have the future, but what we never seem to be able to get ahold of is the present.’

‘Yeah, well, the present is in the hands of a very few.’ I could see his jaws grinding under the heavy sideburns.

‘Have you seen a lot of her?’

He peered up at me under his shaggy gray brows, his eyes damp, then back down at his empty glass. ‘We met a few times afterward, but as you know, with Roger it’s not easy. And it was against my principles, in ruins as they were by then, to fuck another man’s wife, so finally I got enough self-control back to bring an end to it. The fucking anyway. I still wanted to be around her whenever I could, even if I had to exercise my imagination a little and get my rocks off in a substitute. I mean, no offense, but Ros was pretty much the reason I came here tonight. Just to be … well … and now …’ He bit his lip, reared up, and began stalking around the room again, rubbing his face with one thick hand, breathing heavily. ‘ They’re using a goddamn fork on her down there, Gerry! ’ he cried.

‘A fork—?’

‘ Those fucking cops! ’ He smashed his fist into the wall. I recalled now that view I’d had into the living room over the heads of Daffie and Jim and the others, Inspector Pardew on the floor on his knees, reaching back over his shoulder toward his two assistants like a surgeon asking for a scalpel. Vic whirled around suddenly and bulled out, fists clenched, slamming past some people just outside the door: Dolph and Talbot spun back against the wall, Charley Trainer fell on his arse, his scotch flying, a woman giggled nervously. ‘ Beautiful! ’ exclaimed Charley from the floor, his face dripping whiskey, and the woman, a rolypoly lady I didn’t know but judged from her rouged cheeks, colorful print dress, bloodied broadly at the belly, short socks and loafers (why did I think of her in a garden?) to be Mrs Earl Elstob, tittered again. There was a crash down on the landing and somebody cried out. ‘Jesus, what was that?’ Dolph asked thickly, bumping up against the back of the fat lady, who looked surprised and moved away.

‘Maybe he forgot about the stairs,’ Talbot said, and licked his palm. His bandaged ear made him look like he was growing a second head.

I gave Charley a hand getting to his feet, hauling him up out of the dirty dishes. He’d sat square in a plateful of Swedish meatballs, but he didn’t seem to care. ‘Physical contact — I love it!’ he declared, weaving, and flung his arm around me, the bottle of scotch at the end of it thumping heavily against my shoulder. ‘You’re a wunnerful guy, Big G!’ He belched sentimentally, his eyes crossed, and Dolph echoed him more prosaically.

‘I heard that one before,’ said Talbot stupidly. They looked like bloated parodies of horny teenagers, papier-mâché caricatures from some carnival parade, and for a moment they seemed to be wearing their mortality on their noses like blobs of red paint: yes, we’re growing old, I thought, and felt a flush of warmth for them.

I started to pull away, but Charley hugged me tight, the neck of the whiskey bottle pressing up cold and wet under my ear. ‘Hey, I love this fella!’ he exclaimed to the fat lady, and she commenced to giggle. ‘Honess t’god, Gladys, he’s my oldess ’n bess friend! He’s a — he’s a prince! ’

‘Oh you!’ she tee-heed, her face flushed and blood-flecked.

‘No, s’true , Gladys! He’s a real goddamn prince! And I wanna tell ya something—!’

Oh oh. ‘Listen, Charley, no kidding, I—’

‘Charming,’ said Dolph drily, a bit slow in his beery distance. ‘Prince Charming.’

‘Pleased, I’m sure,’ giggled Gladys, holding out a reddish hand, and Talbot, taking it, said: ‘And this is our fairy godmother, Prince. Make a wish — any wish!’

‘I wish I had another beer,’ said Dolph quietly, his face flattening out, and Charley, laughing loosely and dragging me lower as his knees sagged, said: ‘No, wait a minute! Ha ha! This’ll kill ya! We were out inna country, see—’

‘Keep it clean,’ admonished Talbot, holding a small patch of silk to his nose. He sniffed and, winking, offered me the scrap: I turned away, clamped still in Charley’s grip. Distantly, I could hear Woody’s wife, Yvonne, complaining loudly and drunkenly.

‘I awways keep it clean, Tall-Butt, you know that!’ Charley was rumbling, drooling a bit at the corners of his mouth. ‘I soak it three times a day in hot borax, beat it on Saturdays, n’ hang it out to air on Sundays — how clean can ya get? No, cross my heart — ask Gladys here, she’s seen it!’

‘Oh my!’ she gasped as the others yukked it up. ‘I’ve … I’ve never been to a party like this before!’

‘Firss time fr’evrything, my love!’ Charley declared, the dark pouches of his left eye flexing in a drunken wink. ‘I’ll drink to that!’ said Talbot confusedly, and Charley, staring at us quizzically, mouth adroop and eyes rheumy, asked: ‘Whawere we talkin’ about? Hunh? God -damn it, men!’

‘The … the prince …?’ whispered Gladys.

‘’ Ass it! You got it! By God, Gladys, you got it!’ He slumped toward her, pulling me with him (once in a film when the heroine said her lover took her breath away, Charley’s wife Janny had sighed wearily and said she knew just how the lady felt, and I thought of her now, blanched with the terror of some knowledge, as though — could this be it? — as though hugged once too often …), resting his empty glass on her big round shoulder. Down below, Yvonne was hollering something about the sky falling in. ‘You got it,’ he growled, ‘ an’ I want it! ’

She squealed again, clapping a pudgy hand to her mouth, and the big soft mounds of her bosom bobbled with giggling, watched glassily by Dolph and Talbot. Charley winked at me, hugging me close, but behind all the clowning I saw a soggy sadness well up in his blue eyes, a plea: help me! it’s terrible, old buddy, but this is all I can do …!

‘I think your wife’s about to bust a vessel down there,’ Dolph put in, crumpling his beer can and dropping it in the hallway clothes hamper. ‘She asked me to tell you—’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘You got a goddamn mess downstairs, you wanna know the truth,’ Charley declared, frowning drunkenly down his nose at me. ‘We come up here t’get away from it all, Earl’s sister here’n Doll-Face’n ole Tall-Butt’n me — all us birds of a feather, we gotta, you know, go flock together!’ Talbot grinned sheepishly, glancing toward the head of the stairs, Dolph’s ears turned red (he pulled a spare can of beer out of his back pocket as though in self-defense), Gladys looked blank. ‘ ’N hey! we’d be honored t’have yer company, you ole scutlicker, if you careta join us—?’

‘Thanks, but I have to go see what my wife—’

‘Woops, I feel rain, boys!’ Charley hollered, ducking, as Dolph popped the beer open, and I was able to squeeze out from under his arm at last. ‘We better get under cover! There was a slap, a nervous titter, something about age and beauty, while ahead of me, Yvonne: ‘Just break the goddamn thing off, Jim, and throw it away — what the hell do I need it for anyway?’

‘C’mon back, Ger, when you get a chance! Awways room for one more!’