Not that he wouldn’t consider marrying her, it wasn’t so hot after all those years to be a bachelor again, harder every day to get the old ashes hauled. And he missed a nice coozy home to come back to, let’s face it, after busting his ass all day long buttering up some goddamn hunkie or dutchman to make him spring for an order. Giving them all that bullshit about the wife and kids, pulling out the old snapshots. Jesus Christ! Well, Susan was his downfall, even now thinking about that bitch cockteasing him — probably every other man she ever met — to death, got him all hot and bothered. And that goddamn fool Alex thought he’d married the Virgin Mary. Christ, every time she crossed her legs she made damn sure you got an eyeful of the promised land. Must have driven the goddamn iceman crazy. Marie’d probably get some moolah from the old man too, maybe enough for them to go down to Florida and take it easy, maybe do some part-time selling, straight commission, for some rube outfit? Ah, all pipe dreams. If Tom succeeded in seducing Marie, any ideas he had of marriage would fly right out the window. Just stick it in that sweet little nook of hers, Jesus, after all those years of the straight and narrow, it must be tight as a bride’s! But he’d like to have it more than once, bang-bang, so it was best to play it close to the chest and keep a proposal back like an ace in the hole.
Halfway to the Bluebird, he decided to turn back, go the other way to the Hi-Top, and have himself a club sandwich. Old lady Stellkamp didn’t take it too well if you didn’t show up for meals, but he didn’t want to be sitting at that damn table with John McGrath, listening to all his hot air about all the big shots he knew in business. Some big shot he was, a pair of white shoes he must have bought in the year one. He’d have himself a nice quiet lunch and a few beers, get back in time to run a rag over the old perambulator a little and clean out the glove compartment, maybe have a game of crocket with that poor fish Sapurty. Kill some time and then play it nice and easy at supper, o-ho, Mr. Nonchalant. He’d maybe shoot a look over at Marie once in a while, give her that Clark Gable grin, and let the old son of a bitch make of it what he would. She was a swell-looking woman, really, the dumb greaseball that married her didn’t know when he was well off. Well, like he figured, the floozy he started carrying on with must have had a snapping pussy or some goddamn thing. Maybe she liked it in the backyard entrance. A lot of guys go for that.
The Hi-Top was almost empty, a couple of high-school girls sitting at a table eating hot fudge sundaes. They weren’t bad-looking, one had a nice pair of headlights, probably gave every poor kid in the class a hard-on all term long, no lie. And these kids didn’t mind showing them either — like those two Copan sisters, jailbait if he ever saw any, the younger one sitting on the porch railing with her legs up just as calm as you please, a man could look right up her skirt, one day she caught him looking at her and she just stared at him, fresh little bitch didn’t move a muscle. And her sister with that dumb ox of a lifeguard, parked out by the churchyard, she was learning fast, oh Christ, was she! It’s a wonder the kid had the strength to even show up at the beach, let alone swim. The little chippy must have whacked him off till he was cross-eyed. He looked over at one of the girls and she saw him and started to giggle and whisper to her friend, and Tom turned his chair a little so they couldn’t see his rear end, Christ almighty knew why he should care what a couple of small-town sluts thought about how he looked! But he waited until they had gone to leave.
Billy was beating the piss out of Sapurty in a game of crocket when he got back to the house and Tom went up to his room so he wouldn’t mortify the poor dope. When the game was over, he came downstairs and sat in the shade and Sapurty took a powder, with some lame excuse so he wouldn’t have to play the kid another game. God knows what he and Billy talked about, the kid went on and on about everything, Jesus, he could talk you to death, he could be a pain in the ass. He had some kind of a toy plane he started to run around with, making aeroplane noises. Well, his mother was probably back then, trying on all the fancy lace undies she bought in town, ha ha and ha again. You just might be able to get drawers made out of burlap in that burg if you were lucky, but she wouldn’t get even them. The kid was really excited, God only knew what his mother had been telling them about their date, you’d think it was the Fourth of July and Christmas all rolled in one the way he carried on. When Tom told him he was going to wear a tie, Billy started clapping his hands, Jesus, you had to feel sorry for the kid, cockeyed and under that old bastard’s thumb for years. Strike two and he was only ten. What was that thing he’d told him about the lighter he won in Coney Island? Tom forgot, but it was enough to break your heart. Tom said that it was too bad Ralph Sapurty had to leave, he wanted to see him teach Billy a few tricks of the trade in crocket. The kid was smart as a whip and just looked over at him with his plane held up in the air and started to laugh, pleased as punch. Tom did his best to keep a straight face but then he started to laugh too. The sun was starting to get low and Tom told the kid he wanted to shine up the perambulator a little and then make himself presentable for supper and that Billy should go in and wash his hands and face too. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” Tom said in his fake deep voice like he used with clients on the phone, and stretched his hands out like they did in movies about the Romans in olden days. Then he started over to the old coo-pay, looking up at John’s window out of the corner of his eye. He knew the old man had been watching him all the time. And oh brother, if looks could kill!
He went out of his way, all right, let’s admit it, at supper, to get John’s goat, talking about the Germans itching for another war. He got a kick out of watching his face when he laid it on thick about the Nazis and what was happening in Europe — oh, he had a soft spot in his heart for that kraut Helga, all right all right, the old reprobate. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was humping her already. But all the time Tom was cool as a cucumber, his voice nice and calm, a smile on his face, just a gentlemanly difference of opinion. Marie would look up at him once in a while, blushing to beat the band when he caught her eye, my God, she looked like a peach! Frau Schmidt was as busy as a goddamn bee, Christ only knew what baloney she was giving that long drink of water, Mrs. Copan, the poor bag of bones was drinking it all in, the old man of course at the food hammer and tongs, as usual. And then Helga would shake her head and look over at John, full of pity for the poor martyr. And making sure he got the full benefit of her shitface smile. God, how he hated that woman! At one point, Tom moved his foot and by accident touched Marie’s under the table— you’d have thought he’d ripped her dress off the way she jumped and pulled her foot away. Maybe he was just wasting his time after all, and all those sloppy kisses were just a fluke. Wasting time or not, she was the best-looking dish in this neck of the woods and even if they just danced a little bit and chewed the rag like brother and sister, well, it was laying the groundwork anyway. What he really got a kick out of was when Marie got wise to Helga’s fake grinning over at the old man, it was rich, she all of a sudden started to smile over at Tom to beat the band, making sure her father got an eyeful, you had to give her credit. It was like something in the movies, hell, you see it all the time.