Gilbert Sorrentino - Aberration of Starlight

I wonder. I wonder and smile and blush. I bend my Trommer’s coaster in half. I wonder aloud, still smiling and blushing, if what John is saying is what I think John is saying? Yes indeed. I am absolutely right that what I think John is saying is what John is saying. John is telling the God’s honest truth to me because he thinks I’m a crackerjack salesman, and he’d always admired a moustache on a man, always admired a man who smokes a pipe, how he wishes he could cut out the goddamned weeds! Always, always liked a go-getter too. Not some goddamn milksop of a momma’s boy crying about how cruel the world is, can’t make a dollar, thinks money grows on trees for Christ’s sake! A man’s got to take the bull by the horns. John likes me and wants me to know how he thinks Marie feels about me.

And certainly, let’s call a spade a spade, John implies, it’s perfectly clear to him that the way he feels Skip, that’s his pet name for her, John says, the way he feels Skip feels about me is the way that I feel about her. Do I think that John is, for the love of God, blind? That he can’t see us every day of the week mooning over each other and making eyes morning, noon, and night? Pretending to just happen to be in the same place at the same time? Going to Budd Lake and the Locks all the time, oh, perfectly respectable, with Billy along and Dave Warren and Eleanor? John wouldn’t be surprised if even Dave, for God’s sake, who was behind the door when the brains were passed out, it was no secret, has noticed our mooning around. And Dave Warren wouldn’t know it if he smacked his thumb with a hammer, hasn’t got the brains to button his fly. John considers that it wouldn’t be a crime, far from it, if I should invite Marie out some evening soon, maybe dancing at the WigWam or the Seven Gables or the Hi-Top. Skip hasn’t danced, to his knowledge, in years, but it used to be a treat to watch her on the floor. She could really step. And Billy! Why, Billy looks up to me the way he should have been able to look up to his father and was just the other day asking John how old he’d have to be before he could smoke a pipe, like Mr. Thebus. John got a kick out of that Mr. Thebus but Marie has drummed manners into him, and respect, she doesn’t want him growing up like the goddamn hooligans and riffraff on the street corner.

I’m wondering and stammering, just a little, wondering if John wouldn’t mind then, if I begin to, well, date Marie, act, that is, like her escort? I had indeed, there was no use trying to deny it, I had been hit by her like a ton of bricks ever since the day I’d first seen her get out of the car from the station. John is laughing as he rises and picks up his walking stick, God knows he wouldn’t mind one iota if I begin to court Marie, and if the thing comes to naught, well, there’s a lot of summer left for the two of us to have some good, clean fun together. We’ve both been married and know our p’s and q’s. John is a little worried about seeing Skip looking so drawn. She needs a real change. A woman in the prime of her life.

On the road with the sun low over the fields to our left as we stroll toward the farmhouse John mentions that he intends to settle some money on Marie when he dies. But hell, he thinks that’s a hell of a note really, and he has now decided there is no reason in the world that she shouldn’t get the bulk of the money right now if she decides to remarry, to the right man. And I am enough of a man of the world, it seems to John, to know what he means by the right man. If I get his drift?

I’m smiling into the glare of the sun, lopping the heads off black-eyed Susans with a switch and John brings up Helga Schmidt’s name again and considers that if he does what we discussed in the Bluebird concerning that wonderful woman, a congenial and lovely lady, Marie would feel really free because she’d know that he’d be well taken care of in his old age after retirement, which is, let’s call a spade a spade, not far off. And that might, it is John’s considered opinion, might just make Skip a little more receptive to anything an, what can John call it, an admirer, might have to say concerning marriage.

Then John mentions the possibility of a double wedding, oh, certainly as a joke. But anyway, it seems to him that irregardless of what happens between him and Helga, that I should go ahead with his blessing. All that John wishes for Marie is her happiness and he doesn’t want her worrying about him. But I should take my time and not rush into anything.

I clap John on the back, as happy as a clam. It’s been one of the best Sundays! How swell that everything, as quick as a wink, should almost solve itself! God almighty, it has been a crackerjack talk. John laughs and says that it will be such a joy to him to see Marie’s face when she tells him that I’ve asked her to go dancing and then, then her face when he says, why, of course, Skip, you’ll go, won’t you? God knows, he’ll tell her, I have no objections to Mr. Thebus! Oh, it will be rich!

We hear the supper bell as we reach the fork in the road. I think that maybe I’ll ask Marie to take a walk after supper and tell her, well, something about how I feel about her. If John doesn’t mind? The rush? My God! Mind? He doesn’t mind and thinks, as a matter of fact, that he just might take a leaf from my book and ask Helga to play the piano for him in the parlor. She used to all the time in years past, but of course poor Otto was alive then.

Just then, as we come around a curve in the road, we are face to face with, speak of the devil! Marie and Helga, who are arm in arm, laughing and talking to beat the band. And when they see us in front of them, they separate and rush to us, Marie stopping in front of me to look into my eyes, her cheeks slightly flushed, and Helga calmly and yet surely taking both of John’s hands in hers, her eyes modestly on the ground. The four of us stand in the gorgeous light of the sunset, at a loss, just at a loss for words.

Susan had always been a terrific artist, and how. The way she could draw Mickey Mouse and Jiggs and the Katzenjammer Kids! Just exactly, exactly, like the real ones. Her flowers were also beautiful. Her trees.

She crossed her legs, the lamplight shining on her silk stockings, wow, concentrating on her sketch pad. And Janet looked just as good too. If Alex knew … but sure Alex knew what a knockout Susan was. Janet was giggling and, blushing? Hey, what’s up, you two? They both looked over at him, Susan’s mouth open a little and she was panting. Well, a little bit. He got up to build them all another highball. Janet was still, dammit, blushing. What in the hell?

Thanks for the lift, Tommy. You have to wait hours if you miss that trolley that comes around eleven. Thanks.

Any time, Susan.

Cigarette? Oh no, I forgot, the pipe. I like the way it smells. I wish that Alex would switch to a pipe and lay off those cigars. What’s so funny?

Because Janet is always telling me how rotten my pipes smell.

Oh. God, it’s a nice night.

Here … give me your coat if you’re going to sit here awhile.

Just let me smoke this cigarette. Alex is asleep by now anyway.

That’s a nice dress. I wish to God Janet would buy something stylish for herself, Christ. I’m making more money than I ever made in my life, Depression or no Depression. She acts like we’re on relief.

Well, Janet … you do like this dress? When I saw it I really fell in love with it. It buttons all the way … see? You can just… If you want, of course.

Hey.

Susan! You can’t just come into my office and, my God! Disrobe!