She regarded me blankly.
“A song called ‘Rosalie’?”
Still nothing.
“Baby-Face Nelson? Fireside Chats? Gas rationing? The sit-down strikes? ‘Pete Smith Specialties’? ‘One for the Gipper’?”
She looked at me as if I had lost my senses, as if I had begun to speak some strange, unknown language, and she turned to Walt in an appeal for assistance, rescue. But he wasn’t, for once, looking at her. He was studying me, his face naked and unguarded, caught in some loneliness, a loneliness I had mistaken simply for pain earlier in our conversation.
“How do you feel about naps after supper?” I asked her.
She smiled, a patient answer, having decided that the martinis had reached me.
“I’ve got to rush off to a fitting, honey,” she told Walt. Turning to me, laughing softly, she said, “Jerry, it was so nice meeting you. You’ve got to tell me all about those—what did you call them?—‘Pete Smith Specialties’ sometime.”
Walt scraped his chair as he rose. “Yes, we’ll have to get together soon,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll give you a ring, Jerry.” He seemed on edge, trying to smooth out our goodbye and signaling the waiter for the check and fumbling for his wallet and wanting to leave with Jennifer, naturally. What man wouldn’t want to walk out of a bar with a lovely thing like Jennifer West on his arm? He scurried in Jennifer’s wake while I lighted another cigarette and thought, What will you do, Walt, when the bloom leaves Jennifer, as it left Ellen and leaves everybody?
I guided myself through the revolving doors and emerged into the afternoon sun, dazzled by the onslaught of light, the way it used to be on Saturday afternoons when I’d come out of the Globe Theater into the real world, vivid and eye-shattering, after the black-and-white exploits of Tim McCoy or Hoot Gibson.
Hey, Jennifer, ever hear of Hoot Gibson?
I signaled for a passing cab, suddenly realizing that I was overdue at the office. As the car drew up, a girl stepped smartly into my range of vision. She wore a crazy candy-striped beret and had blond bangs. She looked at me charmingly, coquettishly, but she still beat me to the cab.
The taxi took her away and left me standing there on the sidewalk, thinking of Walt, poor Walt, and Jennifer, who had never heard of Fireside Chats or sit-down strikes, as lovely as she was. I watched the taxi bearing away the beautiful girl wearing the crazy beret and thought: How lucky some of us are! Lucky, because we have the temptations but not the opportunities, because we’re always missing the cabs or the elevators or the trains that might have changed our lives and that would lead us eventually to the hell that always awaits the ones who break the rules. Like Walt. And I wondered—if I was so happy to have missed that possible hell—why I felt like crying, standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by people, at two-thirty in the afternoon.
EIGHT PLUS ONE
“If any author in the field can challenge J. D. Salinger or William Golding, it is Robert Cormier.”
—Newsweek
“As with all the best young adult fiction, only the subject matter suggests that these stories should carry that designation: serious readers of any age ought to find Eight Plus One interesting.”
—The Washington Post Book World
“This collection presents a sensitive, loving writer who shares himself, his life, and his craft with readers of all ages.”
—ALAN Review
“His ideas are a stimulus to any young person wanting to write.”
—The Denver Post
“A strong collection … that probes the emotions of adults and young people with equal sensitivity.”
—Booklist
“These are stories to savor.… The finest writers write for all of us, without respect to age, and Cormier again demonstrates his mastery of the art.”
—Voice of Youth Advocates
Robert Cormier (1925–2000) changed the face of young adult literature over the course of his illustrious career. His many novels include The Chocolate War, Beyond the Chocolate War, I Am the Cheese, Fade, Tenderness, After the First Death, Heroes, Frenchtown Summer, and The Rag and Bone Shop. In 1991, he received the Margaret A. Edwards Award, honoring his lifetime contribution to writing for teens.
Robert Cormier, 8 Plus 1
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