“Really, Andy?” she said. “Half a million?”
“Yes, I could have had it, Irene, I really could have...” He stopped. “Irene,” he said, “I never came close to having it.”
“Well, Andy,” she said, “That’s too bad, I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”
“I knew you would say that, Irene.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
The line went silent.
“Irene?” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m here.”
“Irene, did you ever tell anybody about the time with the hat?”
“No,” she said.
“Do you know which time I mean?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Irene...” he said.
“Yes?”
“Irene, do you remember the night we got caught in the rain on Fire Island?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you remember the time we were cleaning out cockroaches...”
“Yes, yes...”
“... and found the Cache?”
“Yes, and got drunk.”
“Yes,” he said.
“And tried to make love.”
“Yes.” He paused. “Irene, would you do it on a Ferris wheel?”
“No,” she said.
“Irene?”
“Yes?”
“Neither would I.”
The line went silent again.
“Well,” he said, and sighed.
“Well... well, what are you going to do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you have any plans?”
“No. I thought...” He hesitated. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“What did you think, Andy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you call, Andy?”
“I guess to...”
“Yes?”
“To ask, Irene, if you would be willing to... to...”
“Yes?”
“Take a gamble.”
“A gamble?”
“On me.”
He said the words so softly that she did not hear him.
“What?” she said.
“On me,” he repeated.
“Oh.”
She’ll say no, he thought. She’ll say no, and I’ll walk off into the night with a nickel in my pocket, fifteen cents less than I started with yesterday morning. Please don’t say no, he thought. Irene, please don’t say no.
“Irene?” he said.
“What is it, Andy?”
“Please don’t say no. I know I’m a fool, I know I’m...”
“No, no,” she said. “You’re...”
“Irene, did you ever tell anybody I was a fool?”
“Andy, I don’t think you’re a fool.”
“I am, Irene, I am.”
“No, Andy.” She paused. Her voice was very low when she spoke again. “Andy, you’re a very nice person,” she said, “if only you would grow up.”
“Irene...” he said.
“Yes?”
“Gamble.”
“I’m not a gambler, Andy.”
“Neither am I,” he said, and the line went silent. For a moment, he thought she had hung up. He waited for her to speak again, and then said, “Irene? Irene, are you...?”
“I’m... I’m here,” she said.
“Listen... listen, you’re not crying, are you? Irene...”
“Andy, Andy,” she said.
“Should... should I come there?”
She did not answer.
“Say yes, Irene.”
Still, she did not answer.
“Irene? Say yes. Please.”
He heard her sigh.
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m crazy.”
“I love you,” he said.
“All right,” she said.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said.
“All right,” she said.
“Well, not in a minute, because all I have is a nickel. It may take some time.”
“Time we have,” she said.
“Yes,” he answered. “Time we have.”
“But hurry, anyway,” she said, and hung up.
He put the phone back onto the hook, and sat unmoving in the booth, feeling the April breeze that swept through the open doors, watching the eddying paper scraps on the floor. He sat that way for a long time, with the paper scraps dancing at his feet, and he thought about the gamble he had taken and lost, and he still wanted to weep. And then he thought about the gamble he was about to take, the biggest gamble of them all perhaps, and he simply nodded, and rose at last, and went out of the booth and began walking back to Manhattan.