When Bill and Linda got married, Jerry was best man. The reception, of course, was at the Donnelly Hotel, Jerry and Bill cutting up together and linking arms and tossing off glasses of spiked punch. But once, in the middle of all this happiness, Bill looked at Jerry and thought how much older Jerry looked, a lot older than twenty-two. By then Jerry was the happy father of two kids and had moved up to assistant manager at Robby’s, and Carol had one in the oven again.
THEY saw each other every Saturday and Sunday, sometimes oftener if it was a holiday. If the weather was good, they’d be over at Jerry’s to barbecue hot dogs and turn the kids loose in the wading pool Jerry had got for next to nothing, like a lot of other things he got from the Mart.
Jerry had a nice house. It was up on a hill overlooking the Naches. There were other houses around, but not too close. Jerry was doing all right. When Bill and Linda and Jerry and Carol got together, it was always at Jerry’s place because Jerry had the barbecue and the records and too many kids to drag around.
It was a Sunday at Jerry’s place the time it happened.
The women were in the kitchen straightening up. Jerry’s girls were out in the yard throwing a plastic ball into the wading pool, yelling, and splashing after it.
Jerry and Bill were sitting in the reclining chairs on the patio, drinking beer and just relaxing.
Bill was doing most of the talking—things about people they knew, about Darigold, about the four-door Pontiac Catalina he was thinking of buying.
Jerry was staring at the clothesline, or at the ‘68 Chevy hardtop that stood in the garage. Bill was thinking how Jerry was getting to be deep, the way he stared all the time and hardly did any talking at all.
Bill moved in his chair and lighted a cigarette.
He said, “Anything wrong, man? I mean, you know.”
Jerry finished his beer and then mashed the can. He shrugged.
“You know,” he said.
Bill nodded.
Then Jerry said, “How about a little run?”
“Sounds good to me,” Bill said. “I’ll tell the women we’re going.”
THEY took the Naches River highway out to Gleed, Jerry driving. The day was sunny and warm, and air blew through the car.
“Where we headed?” Bill said.
“Let’s shoot a few balls.”
“Fine with me,” Bill said. He felt a whole lot better just seeing Jerry brighten up.
“Guy’s got to get out,” Jerry said. He looked at Bill. “You know what I mean?”
Bill understood. He liked to get out with the guys from the plant for the Friday-night bowling league. He liked to stop off twice a week after work to have a few beers with Jack Broderick. He knew a guy’s got to get out.
“Still standing,” Jerry said, as they pulled up onto the gravel in front of the Rec Center.
They went inside, Bill holding the door for Jerry, Jerry punching Bill lightly in the stomach as he went on by.
“Hey there!”
It was Riley.
“Hey, how you boys keeping?”
It was Riley coming around from behind the counter, grinning. He was a heavy man. He had on a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt that hung outside his jeans. Riley said, “So how you boys been keeping?”
“Ah, dry up and give us a couple of Olys,” Jerry said, winking at Bill. “So how you been, Riley?” Jerry said.
Riley said, “So how you boys doing? Where you been keeping yourselves? You boys getting any on the side? Jerry, the last time I seen you, your old lady was six months gone.”
Jerry stood a minute and blinked his eyes.
“So how about the Olys?” Bill said.
They took stools near the window. Jerry said, “What kind of place is this, Riley, that it don’t have any girls on a Sunday afternoon?”
Riley laughed. He said, “I guess they’re all in church praying for it.”
They each had five cans of beer and took two hours to play three racks of rotation and two racks of snooker, Riley sitting on a stool and talking and watching them play, Bill always looking at his watch and then looking at Jerry.
Bill said, “So what do you think, Jerry? I mean, what do you think?” Bill said.
Jerry drained his can, mashed it, then stood for a time turning the can in his hand.
BACK on the highway, Jerry opened it up—little jumps of eighty-five and ninety. They’d just passed an old pickup loaded with furniture when they saw the two girls.
“Look at that!” Jerry said, slowing. “I could use some of that.”
Jerry drove another mile or so and then pulled off the road. “Let’s go back,” Jerry said. “Let’s try it.”
“Jesus,” Bill said. “I don’t know.”
“I could use some,” Jerry said.
Bill said, “Yeah, but I don’t know.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Jerry said.
Bill glanced at his watch and then looked all around. He said, “You do the talking. I’m rusty.”
Jerry hooted as he whipped the car around.
He slowed when he came nearly even with the girls. He pulled the Chevy onto the shoulder across from them. The girls kept on going on their bicycles, but they looked at each other and laughed. The one on the inside was dark-haired, tall, and willowy. The other was light-haired and smaller. They both wore shorts and halters.
“Bitches,” Jerry said. He waited for the cars to pass so he could pull a U.
“I’ll take the brunette,” he said. He said, “The little one’s yours.”
Bill moved his back against the front seat and touched the bridge of his sunglasses. “They’re not going to do anything,” Bill said.
“They’re going to be on your side,” Jerry said.
He pulled across the road and drove back. “Get ready,” Jerry said.
“Hi,” Bill said as the girls bicycled up. “My name’s Bill,” Bill said.
“That’s nice,” the brunette said.
“Where are you going?” Bill said.
The girls didn’t answer. The little one laughed. They kept bicycling and Jerry kept driving.
“Oh, come on now. Where you going?” Bill said.
“No place,” the little one said.
“Where’s no place?” Bill said.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the little one said.
“I told you my name,” Bill said. “What’s yours? My friend’s Jerry,” Bill said.
The girls looked at each other and laughed.
A car came up from behind. The driver hit his horn.
“Cram it!” Jerry shouted.
He pulled off a little and let the car go around. Then he pulled back up alongside the girls.
Bill said, “We’ll give you a lift. We’ll take you where you want. That’s a promise. You must be tired riding those bicycles. You look tired. Too much exercise isn’t good for a person. Especially for girls.”
The girls laughed.
“You see?” Bill said. “Now tell us your names.”
“I’m Barbara, she’s Sharon,” the little one said.
“All right!” Jerry said. “Now find out where they’re going.”
“Where you girls going?” Bill said. “Barb?”
She laughed. “No place,” she said. “Just down the road.”
“Where down the road?”
“Do you want me to tell them?” she said to the other girl.
“I don’t care,” the other girl said. “It doesn’t make any difference,” she said. “I’m not going to go anyplace with anybody anyway,” the one named Sharon said.
“Where you going?” Bill said. “Are you going to Picture Rock?”
The girls laughed.
“That’s where they’re going,” Jerry said.
He fed the Chevy gas and pulled up off onto the shoulder so that the girls had to come by on his side.
“Don’t be that way,” Jerry said. He said, “Come on.” He said, “We’re all introduced.”
The girls just ro
de on by.
“I won’t bite you!” Jerry shouted.
The brunette glanced back. It seemed to Jerry she was looking at him in the right kind of way. But with a girl you could never be sure.
Jerry gunned it back onto the highway, dirt and pebbles flying from under the tires.
“We’ll be seeing you!” Bill called as they went speeding by.
“It’s in the bag,” Jerry said. “You see the look that cunt gave me?”
“I don’t know,” Bill said. “Maybe we should cut for home.”
“We got it made!” Jerry said.
HE pulled off the road under some trees. The highway forked here at Picture Rock, one road going on to Yakima, the other heading for Naches, Enumclaw, the Chinook Pass, Seattle.
A hundred yards off the road was a high, sloping, black mound of rock, part of a low range of hills, honeycombed with footpaths and small caves, Indian sign-painting here and there on the cave walls. The cliff side of the rock faced the highway and all over it there were things like this: NACHES 67—GLEED WILDCATS—JESUS SAVES—BEAT YAKIMA—REPENT NOW.
They sat in the car, smoking cigarettes. Mosquitoes came in and tried to get at their hands.
“Wish we had a beer now,” Jerry said. “I sure could go for a beer,” he said.
Bill said, “Me too,” and looked at his watch.
WHEN the girls came into view, Jerry and Bill got out of the car. They leaned against the fender in front.
“Remember,” Jerry said, starting away from the car, “the dark one’s mine. You got the other one.”
The girls dropped their bicycles and started up one of the paths. They disappeared around a bend and then reappeared again, a little higher up. They were standing there and looking down.
“What’re you guys following us for?” the brunette called down.
Jerry just started up the path.
The girls turned away and went off again at a trot.
Jerry and Bill kept climbing at a walking pace. Bill was smoking a cigarette, stopping every so often to get a good drag. When the path turned, he looked back and caught a glimpse of the car.
“Move it!” Jerry said.
“I’m coming,” Bill said.
They kept climbing. But then Bill had to catch his breath. He couldn’t see the car now. He couldn’t see the highway, either. To his left and all the way down, he could see a strip of the Naches like a strip of aluminum foil.
Jerry said, “You go right and I’ll go straight. We’ll cut the cockteasers off.”
Bill nodded. He was too winded to speak.
He went higher for a while, and then the path began to drop, turning toward the valley. He looked and saw the girls. He saw them crouched behind an outcrop. Maybe they were smiling.
Bill took out a cigarette. But he could not get it lit. Then Jerry showed up. It did not matter after that.
Bill had just wanted to fuck. Or even to see them naked. On the other hand, it was okay with him if it didn’t work out.
He never knew what Jerry wanted. But it started and ended with a rock. Jerry used the same rock on both girls, first on the girl called Sharon and then on the one that was supposed to be Bill’s.
After the Denim
EDITH Packer had the tape cassette plugged into her ear, and she was smoking one of his cigarettes. The TV played without any volume as she sat on the sofa with her legs tucked under her and turned the pages of a magazine. James Packer came out of the guest room, which was the room he had fixed up as an office, and Edith Packer took the cord from her ear. She put the cigarette in the ashtray and pointed her foot and wiggled her toes in greeting.
He said, “Are we going or not?”
“I’m going,” she said.
Edith Packer liked classical music. James Packer did not. He was a retired accountant. But he still did returns for some old clients, and he didn’t like to hear music when he did it.
“If we’re going, let’s go.”
He looked at the TV, and then went to turn it off.
“I’m going,” she said.
She closed the magazine and got up. She left the room and went to the back.
He followed her to make sure the back door was locked and also that the porch light was on. Then he stood waiting and waiting in the living room.
It was a ten-minute drive to the community center, which meant they were going to miss the first game.
IN the place where James always parked, there was an old van with markings on it, so he had to keep going to the end of the block.
“Lots of cars tonight,” Edith said.
He said, “There wouldn’t be so many if we’d been on time.”
“There’d still be as many. It’s just we wouldn’t have seen them.” She pinched his sleeve, teasing.
He said, “Edith, if we’re going to play bingo, we ought to be here on time.”
“Hush,” Edith Packer said.
He found a parking space and turned into it. He switched off the engine and cut the lights. He said, “I don’t know if I feel lucky tonight. I think I felt lucky when I was doing Howard’s taxes. But I don’t think I feel lucky now. It’s not lucky if you have to start out walking half a mile just to play.”
“You stick to me,” Edith Packer said. “You’ll feel lucky.”
“I don’t feel lucky yet,” James said. “Lock your door.”
THERE was a cold breeze. He zipped the windbreaker to his neck, and she pulled her coat closed. They could hear the surf breaking on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff behind the building.
She said, “I’ll take one of your cigarettes first.”
They stopped under the street lamp at the corner. It was a damaged street lamp, and wires had been added to support it. The wires moved in the wind, made shadows on the pavement.
“When are you going to stop?” he said, lighting his cigarette after he’d lighted hers.
“When you stop,” she said. “I’ll stop when you stop. Just like it was when you stopped drinking. Like that. Like you.”
“I can teach you to do needlework,” he said.
“One needleworker in the house is enough,” she said.
He took her arm and they kept on walking.
When they reached the entrance, she dropped her cigarette and stepped on it. They went up the steps and into the foyer. There was a sofa in the room, a wooden table, folding chairs stacked up. On the walls were hung photographs of fishing boats and naval vessels, one showing a boat that had turned over, a man standing on the keel and waving.
The Packers passed through the foyer, James taking Edith’s arm as they entered the corridor.
SOME clubwomen sat to the side of the far doorway signing people in as they entered the assembly hall, where a game was already in progress, the numbers being called by a woman who stood on the stage.
The Packers hurried to their regular table. But a young couple occupied the Packers’ usual places. The girl wore denims, and so did the long-haired man with her. She had rings and bracelets and earrings that made her shiny in the milky light. Just as the Packers came up, the girl turned to the fellow with her and poked her finger at a number on his card. Then she pinched his arm. The fellow had his hair pulled back and tied behind his head, and something else the Packers saw—a tiny gold loop through his earlobe.
JAMES guided Edith to another table, turning to look again before sitting down. First he took off his windbreaker and helped Edith with her coat, and then he stared at the couple who had taken their places. The girl was scanning her cards as the numbers were called, leaning over to check the man’s cards too—as if, James thought, the fellow did not have sense enough to look after his own numbers.
James picked up the stack of bingo cards that had been set out on the table. He gave half to Edith. “Pick some winners,” he said. “Because I’m taking these three on top. It doesn’t matter which ones I pick. Edith, I don’t feel lucky tonight.”
“Don’t you pay it any attention,” she said. “Th
ey’re not hurting anybody. They’re just young, that’s all.”
He said, “This is regular Friday night bingo for the people of this community.”
She said, “It’s a free country.”
She handed back the stack of cards. He put them on the other side of the table. Then they served themselves from the bowl of beans.
JAMES peeled a dollar bill from the roll of bills he kept for bingo nights. He put the dollar next to his cards. One of the clubwomen, a thin woman with bluish hair and a spot on her neck—the Packers knew her only as Alice—would presently come by with a coffee can. She would collect the coins and bills, making change from the can. It was this woman or another woman who paid off the wins.
The woman on the stage called “I-25,” and someone in the hall yelled, “Bingo!”
Alice made her way between the tables. She took up the winning card and held it in her hand as the woman on the stage read out the winning numbers.
“It’s a bingo,” Alice confirmed.
“That bingo, ladies and gentlemen, is worth twelve dollars!” the woman on the stage announced. “Congratulations to the winner!”
THE Packers played another five games to no effect. James came close once on one of his cards. But then five numbers were called in succession, none of them his, the fifth a number that produced a bingo on somebody else’s card.
“You almost had it that time,” Edith said. “I was watching your card.”
“She was teasing me,” James said.
He tilted the card and let the beans slide into his hand. He closed his hand and made a fist. He shook the beans in his fist. Something came to him about a boy who’d thrown some beans out a window. The memory reached to him from a long way off, and it made him feel lonely.
“Change cards, maybe,” Edith said.
“It isn’t my night,” James said.
He looked over at the young couple again. They were laughing at something the fellow had said. James could see they weren’t paying attention to anyone else in the hall.
ALICE came around collecting money for the next game, and just after the first number had been called, James saw the fellow in the denims put down a bean on a card he hadn’t paid for. Another number was called, and James saw the fellow do it again. James was amazed. He could not concentrate on his own cards. He kept looking up to see what the fellow in denim was doing.