Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“ When I hear that serenade in blue ,

“ I’m somewhere in another —”

“Do you like Glenn Miller?” Amanda asked.

“— world alone with you

“ Sharing all the joys... ”

“Yes,” Matthew said.

“He’s in the army, too, isn’t he?”

“Yes. The air corps.”

“Do you like our parachute?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“He’s a captain, too, isn’t he? Glenn Miller?”

“Yes.”

“ And as we dance the night away

“ I hear you say... ”

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“You seem angry.”

“I don’t like to talk when I’m dancing,” Matthew said.

“Oh. Well, excuse me.”

“You’re excused.”

Around and around, barely touching the gym floor, he doesn’t like to talk when he dances, well, well, well, the strong silent type, Mr. Matthew Anson Bridges, but he does dance well. He’s probably counting the steps. Talking probably confuses him, throws him off count. And she burst out laughing.

“Something?” he said.

“No. No.”

“I don’t like secret laughter,” he told her.

“What do you like, Mr. Bridges?”

“Call me Matthew. Everyone else does.”

“What do you like, Matthew?”

“I like honey blondes who look as if they just fell off a peach tree.”

She stared up at him suddenly.

“The song’s over,” he said. “I do like Glenn Miller, and I think your freshman band and your teen-age vocalist just slaughtered one of the prettiest songs he ever recorded.”

“Me?” Amanda said.

“Huh?”

“The... the peach tree?”

“Oh. Yes. Would you like a drink?”

“I don’t know if I’m flattered.”

“Why not?”

Amanda laughed. “Peaches are yellow and red and fuzzy.”

“They are also ripe and soft,” Matthew said. “Come on.”

“Where are you going? The punch bowl’s—”

“I think Brian has a pint in the car.”

“Well...”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’d like to dance some more,” Amanda said.

“The band’s taking an intermission.”

“Yes, I know. When they come back, I mean. Oh, there’s Gillian! Gilly! Over here!”

Gillian, wearing a vibrantly electric blue silk, took Brian’s hand and walked to where Matthew and Amanda were standing.

“Hi,” she said. “How are you two getting along?”

“We’re discussing fruit,” Matthew said, and he smiled at Amanda.

“I think we ought to get out of here,” Brian said.

“Why?” Gillian asked.

“I don’t like gymnasiums. They always smell sweaty.”

“I want to dance some more,” Amanda said.

“Isn’t there someplace else we can go to dance?” Matthew asked Brian.

“Sure. There’re a hundred places in Talmadge alone. If we—”

“I want to stay here,” Amanda said. “I think it’s lovely.”

“I thought we might find a place where we could sit at a table.”

“No, I like it here.”

“Defense rests,” Matthew said, shrugging.

“You’re a lawyer, Brian tells me,” Gillian said. She smiled slightly, her green eyes catching Matthew’s, holding them in an intense gaze.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“It must be fascinating. The law.”

“It is. I only wish I were practicing it.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m something slightly higher than a clerk,” Matthew said, smiling.

“Isn’t that Virginia?”

“Isn’t what Virginia?”

“The accent.”

“I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“I’m an expert,” Gillian said. “I’ll bet I can pinpoint the town.”

“Go ahead.”

“Say something else. Say ‘I think we should take the ferry to Newport News.’”

“I think we should take the ferry to Newport News.”

“I think we should take the car to New Haven,” Brian said.

“Richmond,” Gillian said.

“Not quite,” Matthew answered, “but pretty close. That’s remarkable. Brian told you, didn’t he?”

“I didn’t say a word,” Brian swore. “She’s uncanny, that’s all. Gilly, do the Russian story, will you?”

“No, not now, Brian. If you live in Virginia, why were you heading for New Haven?”

“Army business,” Matthew said.

“Will you go to the theater there?”

“I hadn’t thought so. Should I?”

“Yes, you should. They’re trying out a wonderful show at the Biltmore. At least, I think it’s still there. It may have already moved to New York. It’s called Sons and Soldiers. ”

“A musical?”

“No, no, a straight drama.”

“Who’s in it?”

“Geraldine Fitzgerald plays the woman,” Gillian said. “And there’s a new actor called...” She paused. “Gregory something. I can’t remember. He’s very tall, with dark hair and brooding eyes, and a strong profile.”

“I’ll try to see it,” Matthew said.

“The band’s starting,” Brian said. “Are we getting out of here?”

“Shhh,” Gillian said, “they’re playing our song.” She winked at Amanda and led Brian onto the floor.

“How old is your friend?” Matthew asked.

“Eighteen.” Amanda paused. “Does that make her old enough?”

“Legally, do you mean?”

“However you prefer.”

“I prefer honey blondes who fall out of peach trees. I thought I told you that. I’m going for that drink. Will you come with me?”

“I’m not thirsty,” Amanda said. She hesitated. “But I’ll go with you.”

“Shall we tell them we’re leaving?”

“Why? We’ll be back.”

“Yes, of course,” Matthew said.

He took her arm and led her out of the gym. It was a dark night, almost moonless. They walked slowly toward the car.

“Why’d you ask how old Gillian was?”

“I was curious. She seems older somehow. And yet I knew she was just a kid.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“Two things I’ll never guess at are a woman’s age or her weight.”

“I’ll give you a hint. I’m finishing my sophomore year.”

“That isn’t a hint at all. You can be a very bright sophomore, and therefore quite young, or else—”

“I am very bright,” Amanda said.

“Yes, and quite young.”

“And how young is quite young?”

“Younger than Gillian,” he said.

“Really? You don’t believe that.”

“No. I know it isn’t true. But you seem much younger than she does.”

“Why is that?”

“Search me. Here’s the car.”

He opened the door on her side. She hesitated.

“Go on,” he said. “Get in.”

“I told you. I don’t want a drink.”

“Get in, anyway. I hate to drink alone.”

“All right,” she said. She got into the car, and he slammed the door behind her. She immediately tucked her skirts around her, but they wouldn’t stay put because of the crinoline petticoats. The door on his side of the car opened, and he slid onto the seat, leaned over, and thumbed open the glove compartment.

“There we are,” he said, reaching for the pint. He unscrewed the cap and held the bottle out to her. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”

“I don’t drink,” she said.

“See what I mean?”

“No. See what you mean about what?”

“Your youth. How old are you anyway, Miranda?”

“Amanda,” she said. “I was twenty just this month.”

“Amanda, of course.” He tilted the bottle to his mouth. “Happy birthday, Amanda.” He took a quick swallow, screwed the cap back on, and put the bottle into the glove compartment, slamming it shut. “There.”