J R

  —Those what.

  —No I just meant those sneakers, I mean like I never saw you wear . . .

  —My mother got them for me, where else do you get sneakers. Don’t you like them?

  —Honest? No sure I mean they’re real neat with those red stars and all, he said getting his armload.—I always wanted them since, you know Buzzie? He had them . . .

  And the door clattered closed, silent for a moment before the receiver came down, the dial spun,—Mister Rich? Jack. I want fifty on Sam’s Pet tomorrow in the second at . . . what? Well then how the hell do you expect me to . . . Well look, give me twenty on the double, Sam’s Pet and Belle Amie and I’m in for an even eight hundred . . . the last time, yes . . . the receiver clattered down and the door, more slowly, opened,—bastard.

  —Jack . . .?

  —Oh! he started up, half out of the booth,—didn’t see you . . .

  —I wasn’t sure, when suddenly I saw your foot . . .

  —These? He sank back to extend them,—I’m just ah, a favor I’m doing for Coach, tie-in he has with a sneaker company and he asked me to . . .

  —No please, please I don’t want you to explain . . .

  —Have to explain Amy . . . he was getting to his feet,—lot of things I, things I wanted to straighten out first . . .

  —I’ve just felt you’ve been avoiding me, that you, where have you been? I’ve hardly . . .

  —Been? Been, straying from the curriculum, you miss my homeroom this morning? Doing it all to please Whiteback . . . he stopped at the clock there and drew a hand over his face,—going to be a long day. Now what was, Glancy’s class straying from the curriculum yes, people on other worlds, the chance of running into one and two dimensional people out there . . .

  —Jack . . .

  —Run into a two dimensional people sideways you couldn’t even see him . . .

  —Jack please, she put a hand on his arm turning back down the corridor,—you don’t look . . .

  —Just so damned many things from so many directions Amy, trying to straighten them out before I, when I didn’t get down to that cafeteria to meet you for dinner that night because . . .

  —No it’s all right I, I couldn’t get there either . . .

  —Well I’m, God I’m glad of that . . . and he turned abruptly where they’d stopped just short of the outside doors to stare with that in tentness of committing some detail to memory, loft of brow or curve of throat,—few things I have to go in and straighten out . . .

  —Into town? I’m going in later I think . . .

  —Are you? are you? Look . . . he took her arm to move her away from the glass door being pushed vainly from the other side, without a glance up till it came open on a sweep of fur,—what time do you . . .

  —Jack . . .?

  —Why what . . .

  —I had to drive out here and I thought I’d stop in. Is school over?

  —Well yes it’s, yes it, excuse me this is, this is Mrs Grynszpan, Mrs, Mrs diCephalis . . . he stepped back for the gloved hand to brush the other’s tapered fingers,—just wouldn’t have expected you here, I . . .

  —I don’t want to interrupt anything, I know you’re . . .

  —No please it’s all right, I have a class to prepare for tomorrow. I enjoyed meeting you.

  —Wait . . . he fled his image on the dark glasses,—Stella wait here, be right back . . .

  She watched them as far as the clock, and then stepped away from the draft of the door.

  —Excuse me, are you looking for somebody?

  —Pardon? Oh, no no I’m just waiting for someone . . . cornered, she caught her breath,—thank you . . . and she watched that back up the corridor, saw it through the salutation returning now from the other direction.

  —Stella what are you doing here.

  —I told you, she said stepping through the door he held for her.—Who was that.

  —Who.

  —That man who just went in with the, with the scars . . .

  —Oh Coach, that’s our Coach, why.

  —He just, just startled me.

  —But what the hell are you doing here anyhow!

  —I told you, I came out to see my aunts and I thought I’d stop and, I thought you might want to come into town with me.

  —What for.

  —But you’re not in the nicest mood are you, and that suit Jack, she led on into the parking lot, looking down,—and those sneakers you’re wearing . . .

  —Helping Coach out on the, trying the youngsters out on floor hockey.

  —You?

  —They love it, get to hit each other with sticks and . . .

  —You can’t have been drinking?

  —Think I stay in here at noon and eat carrot sticks?

  She stopped by a car.—Shall I wait for you to get your shoes and, and a coat?

  —Have to ride me in like this Stella, he got the opposite door,—or shall I ride you in.

  —Please stop it, she said, in behind the wheel, and as they started to move—was there any particular reason to introduce me as Mrs whatever you . . .

  —Grynszpan yes, sorry I didn’t give the full name did I, Mrs Hyman Grynszpan. College chum.

  —And I suppose some day I may even learn the name of your lovely Mrs, whatever that ridiculous name you made up . . .

  —No no diCephalis, here let me stop and introduce you, this figure going out the gate ahead of us, you can see he’s accident prone go slowly, thinks of himself as a vehicle sometimes and he might try to . . .

  —That? she swept the wheel in a turn,—that’s her husband?

  —That’s Dan diCephalis our ah, our resident psycho . . .

  —It’s quite an assortment you work with isn’t it, except for your Miss, Mrs, turned out by Patou even three or four seasons old she’s quite elegant . . . and they turned into open highway.—What’s someone like her doing there.

  —Same thing someone like I is. Am. Like I am is, there, something like I am is, is that what I said?

  —Will you please take your feet down?

  —These? Pardon?

  —Those terrible sneakers, will you get them off the dashboard.

  —When suddenly I saw your foot, know that poem?

  —Isn’t she a little young?

  —For what, teaching?

  —For you.

  —Listen Stella what . . . he was getting knees around, getting an arm over the seat,—what did you come there for anyhow, you don’t like my friends, you don’t like my sneakers, you . . .

  —I told you.

  —I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you got into furs and dark glasses to come out and see your aunts, what are the shades for anyhow? Day’s so gray I can hardly see without them.

  Without turning from the road she raised a glove from the wheel to lift the glasses away, and drop them back.—Now do you?

  —But my, good lord what . . .

  —Norman.

  —Gave you that? He must have hit you with, must have hit you with a hammer what happened, he got a can of blue paint and a can of orange paint and . . .

  —Please Jack, stop it. It wasn’t nice and it, it certainly wasn’t funny.

  He sagged somewhat, dug out a cigarette and came forward, trying buttons,—there . . .

  —Do we need the radio?

  —Looking for the God damned lighter.

  —It’s that one, at the end. Can you turn that down a little?

  —Little, thought it was Moonglow but it’s that damned Tchaikowski thing . . . he settled back in smoke as they veered to an open lane, waved to the glimpse of age clinging to the wheel of the car they passed.

  —Jack I wish you could just . . .

  —Wait let’s hear the commercial, thought it was Tchaikowski but it’s that God damned . . .

  —I thought maybe you could . . .

  —Well what the hell did happen if that’s what you came out for, not the wasn’t funny part the wasn’t nice . . .

  —Look in my bag.


  —Never liked to look in ladies’ bags, found something once in one that, while I think of it, he rummaged among bills,—if you hate my sneakers so much you might lend me ten toward a pair of . . .

  —Take it.

  —Only find twenties here, and ones . . .

  —Well take one of the . . .

  —Good, good lord is this, this what you were talking about?

  She glanced down.—Yes.

  —Right into the eye of the hurricane, almost see out the other end can’t you.

  —Jack please, you don’t have to start . . .

  —Ought to borrow it to show to our principal, he’s a great one for proscribed openings. Got both of them here in fact haven’t you, takes me back to my boyhood in Burmesquik . . .

  —Jack that’s enough, will you just put it . . .

  —Well what do you want me to say, that she has nice eyes? that I’d like an introduction? I mean is it somebody I’m supposed to know or is she just . . .

  —No but I thought, it just looks like his secretary, I’ve only seen her once but . . .

  —Norman’s passing these out, you mean?

  —No please stop being, it was in his shirt pocket. I was getting laundry together and . . .

  —And what, you mean you think the lucky man here is . . .

  —Jack please stop it, if you can’t simply . . .

  —Doesn’t really look like Norman’s ah, knee though, does it, of course you’d know better than . . .

  —I said please! The car swerved as she reached to thrust it into her bag.

  —All right but I don’t follow your story, he said rearranging knees,—you found it in his pocket and he hit you? I mean why didn’t you hit him.

  A horn sounded and she looked up to the mirror and slowed to the right, and a horn sounded.—Well you know him, she said quietly,—can’t you imagine?

  —Not because I know him though Stella, he turned to open the vent window and drop out his cigarette,—but I know you.

  —Jack if you’re going to start . . .

  —Because I know what you said to him when you found it. You just moved in and finished the job didn’t you, couldn’t have done it better if you’d sat down with the girl there and planned it.

  —Jack I don’t want to hear . . .

  —I know damned well you don’t, last twist of the knife and he’s out of business for good, why the hell did you ever marry him Stella.

  Her gloved hand came up to press the glasses closer and they veered out, passing cars.—Have you got a cigarette?

  He came up with one and lit it for her with a match, shook the pack and crumpled it.—Why.