And yet. And yet.
Later, after his father had gone to work, Jerry found himself at the telephone, looking at the phone book under the instrument. Could almost recall the Goober's number, not certain of the last digit—6 or 7? Reached for the telephone book but, finally, didn't pick it up. Some other time.
He went to the window, glanced out at the dark street, and withdrew into the room. He knew that he had to get out of this apartment, pick up the pieces of his life. Walk the streets, drop in at the library, check the record store, breathe some spring air into his lungs. And call the Goober.
Maybe tomorrow.
Or the next day.
Or never.
Tubs Casper had sworn off girls forever. But the result of that decision was agonizing. He hadn't realized it would be this way when he broke up with Rita, said good-bye forever, stalked off in anger and desperation and, yes, pain. Jeez, what pain. Pain in his heart and in his groin. He felt wounded, as if he'd been through a war in the trenches like the soldiers in World War I — the War to Make the World Safe for Democracy, they had called it in Social Science — trudging through his days and nights like the walking wounded, trying to keep himself from feeling anything, which was impossible, of course. Worst of all, he was eating like a madman and had gained nine pounds, which meant he was now forty-five pounds overweight. Found it hard to breathe going up the stairs, sweated all the time, perpetually moist, oozing. And on top of all that, the Vigils.
He was bubbling with sweat now as he stood in the small storage room in the gym. He had to blink to get rid of the perspiration gathering in his eyes. He knew that he looked as if he was crying. But he wasn't. He didn't want anybody to think he was a weeper. Underneath this terrible felt that he couldn't get rid of or disguise, he was brave and strong and durable. As he stood before the members of the Vigils, he was determined to put up a good front, despite the fat and the sweat. He recognized some of the guys who sat in the room's dimness, knew their names but had never talked to any of them. Freshmen like Tubs kept out of the way of upperclassmen. He looked around for the kid called Obie but did not see him here. Obie was the only Vigil member he had talked with, and he preferred not to think about their association, because it had to do with Rita and the chocolates.
There was an attitude of waiting in the room, the guys talking together in low tones, acting as if Tubs didn't exist. Tubs knew who they were waiting for. Archie Costello. He dreaded Archie Costello's arrival. He knew all about him, his power and his assignments.
The door swung open, admitting a shaft of light. Without looking, Tubs knew that the great Archie Costello was now on the scene. All conversation ceased and the guys became alert, tension developing as if somebody had lit a fuse and everyone was waiting for an explosion to occur.
"Hello, Ernest," Archie said.
Caught off guard by the use of his real name (he really hated "Tubs" but had learned to accept the nickname), Tubs swiveled toward him.
A smile on his face, Archie regarded Tubs with something like affection. Tubs wasn't exactly put at ease, but his sense of doom and foreboding diminished a bit.
"Too bad about Rita," Archie said, after pausing a moment, speaking casually as if they were continuing a conversation begun earlier.
Tubs was caught off guard again. First, he'd expected the meeting to be called to order. Second, nobody was supposed to know about Rita and what had happened. But the kid called Obie knew about her. Too bad about Rita. Tubs's heart began to thud in his chest.
"Remember Rita?" Archie prompted, the smile still on his face, a fake smile, Tubs realized now, like the smile painted on a clown's face. But Archie was no clown.
"Yes, I remember," Tubs said, his voice small and squeaky. He hated his voice, couldn't control it, never knew when it would come out high and squeaky or low and rumbling. Either like a belch or like a fart. Embarrassing him, either way.
"Beautiful girl, Rita," Archie said, tilting his head a bit, voice soft, as if he'd known Rita and his memories were fond and gentle. "Isn't she?"
Tubs nodded, dumbfounded. How much did Archie know about Rita? Rita, his pride and his agony, his throbbing love, his ultimate betrayer. Hell, he'd almost gone to jail for her. Well, probably not jail but district court, at least. That's what Obie had threatened. Tubs had loved her, hated her now, of course, but still wanted her, still feverish for her, that body of hers, the only girl he'd ever touched, caressed, held. Those breasts. Willing to die for those breasts. Willing to keep the money from the stupid chocolate sale. Not stealing, as Obie had accused him of doing. Merely borrowing. Going into debt to buy her that birthday present, the bracelet she loved. $19.52 including tax. The amount was seared into his heart, his brain.
"You still believe in love, Ernest?" Archie asked.
Somehow, Archie didn't act like the bastard he was supposed to be. Maybe it was his soft voice, the Ernest on his tongue, the sympathetic eyes.
"Do you?" Archie asked gently.
It seemed as if they were alone in the room, just the two of them, the members of the Vigils receding, his heart beating almost normally now.
"Yes," Tubs said. He believed in love, believed in Rita, even now. In a small and secret place in his overweight and perspiring body, he harbored a belief that somehow there had been a mistake and Rita would come into his life again, apologetic, loving him, offering herself to him.
Obie chose that moment to arrive at the meeting.
Obie was late for the meeting because he'd been trying, without success, to call Laurie Gundarson. Her line had been busy. He'd waited in the corridor, stalling, placing the call again and again, greeted by the busy signal that taunted him agonizingly. It occurred to him that her line might not be busy at all. Laurie had once confessed that she often took the phone off the hook when she wanted to avoid certain people. Did she want to avoid Obie now? The possibility filled him with anguish.
His first impulse when classes ended for the day was to dash out of school and drive to her house. But the inverted Y on the bulletin board detained him. The Vigils meeting. He realized that the meeting might in some way be connected with last night's attack. He had not anticipated a meeting today, knew no reason why Archie should have suddenly called one. He also knew that news spreads quickly in a school like Trinity. Was the attack already common knowledge? Depositing the dime again, dialing, then hearing the blurt of the busy signal once more, Obie hung up and made his way downstairs, miserable and confused. He nodded to Jimmy Saulnier, who kept guard outside the meeting room, and entered "to find Tubs Casper the center of attention. Poor blubber of a kid who looked as if he might faint at any moment. Obie flushed with guilt at the sight of the kid. Hell, one more lousy thing on the lousiest day of his life.
Obie winced as he listened to the exchange between Archie and Tubs.
"Yes, what?" Archie was asking.
"Yes, I believe in love," Tubs said, his voice an agonized whisper.
Obie swore under his breath. He'd hoped that Archie had forgotten all about Tubs Casper. He should have known better: Archie never forgot. Archie, in fact, had goaded Obie into giving him Tubs's name, back in January, half a lifetime ago. Archie had been taunting Obie about his lack of proposed victims. Running on empty, Obie? Losing your touch? Obie had winced because Bunting and Carter and some other guys were present, gathered on the front steps of the school. Or maybe you just lack imagination. Obie's pulse throbbed in his temple; his cheeks grew warm. You haven't come up with a decent name in weeks. A decent name meant a victim, someone vulnerable Archie could use in an assignment.