126 Pretty Maids All in a Row "With my nose like this?"
“Get up—”
“Take a look at it—”
The Chief got to his feet. He stood before her. She glanced up from her paper, cursorily examined his face. “It’s alright”
“Where’d ya get that hard loaf?”
“Don’t worry. It’s alright.”
“Look at it bleedin’ though—”
“Just hold the hankie to it—”
“I had a rough day. Rough. No kiddin’, Mare. What a day. And you bust my nose—”
“You should of phoned me—”
“Jesus, I thought sure you’d heard it—”
“Who did it?”
“I got some ideas—”
“Yeh?”
“Can’t tell у a yet though—”
**A w—"
“What ideas?”
“Can’t tell ya, Mare—"
“Waddaya mean? Why not?"
“Can’t—that’s all—”
“Want your supper? Bo?”
11 Aw—Mare—”
“Better tell me—”
••Стоп—"
“Honest! I was!”
“Alright! No supperГ “Want the butter?”
“Tell me—"
“Jesus Christ!”
“Did you do it?”
“NoГ
“What ideas?”
“I’ll tell ya later.”
••Now."
Chief Poldaski, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, looked down at his wife. She waited to hear from him, the newspaper in one hand, her other hand on her hip.
“One of them Jigs.”
Mary stood quietly, taking it in. She kept her eyes on her husband, letting it sink in. Looking at her, he wondered if he would get anything tonight. He touched his ear, which was flaring red. She had teased the hell out of him—last night.
“Get the butter.”
She said, finally.
Very quietly.
24
Tiger, after supper, which was delicious, as usual, for Looby Loo certainly could cook, and a browse around in his den, left the house, for although he had had a full day, more or less, he wasn’t quite set to turn in. He told Hilda he was just going to “check around,” which meant, as she knew, he was going to visit the various high-school hangouts in town, juke joints, pizzerias, and the like, and see what his athletes might be up to, if anything, after their curfew hour (imposed by Tiger). He kissed his sweetie of a daughter Jane goodnight, admiring her pretty face, which was a lot like Looby Loo’s, and her steadily developing elegant little body (she was eleven), and her cute personality and character structure, to boot. He certainly was fond of her. He said, “See you later,” to Looby Loo, and set off, not without a little kiss for her too. He loved them both. He glanced at his watch as he climbed into his Mustang, for he had an appointment at nine-thirty of course with the most interesting, in many respects, of all those on his interesting list. Rochelle Hudson. No less. Tiger smiled, warmly, thinking of her, almost seeing her, before him. The back of his neck and head tingled, his shoulders and back, his arms felt a certain surge in them. Without a doubt, he was fond of her. He started the car and rolled away from his house on Maple Avenue, one of the nicest of Sawyersville’s very nice avenues. His car radio was on, in fact it came on automatically, and a soft tune was playing for him, it was a soft jazz rendering of “Georgia” and it was great, just perfect and great, it had the smoothest beat. He and Looby Loo liked to dance to that tune, played this way, sweet and slow, low. He remembered their courting days, they used to dance a lot, they would hold close, and drift around the floor, their arms about one another. It was out of this world, dancing that way, to a great tune like this. They didn’t dance all that much nowadays of course, but in his mind, right now, hearing the tune, Tiger was dancing with Looby Loo, holding close, loving it, loving her. He had never known anyone who could dance like her. It was just one of the reasons he had married her. On that dance floor they were one. Warmly, he thought of his loved one. She used The Pill to contracept, and he loved her for that too. It was great. She always had a plentiful supply on hand. In fact, more than enough. Just now, before coming out, Tiger had filled up a number of little bottles. He did this about twice a week. He had a few of these bottles in his pocket right now, as a matter of fact. Though, before the evening was over, he might well have one less. He had to check. He grew warmer, thinking of Rochelle, that unique girl. All in all, he felt good. Pretty good. For of course there was the matter of that tragic disastrous event of the morning nudging its way in, from time to time, in fact, a good deal of the time. It saddened him. He felt bad. But that’s life, Tiger thought, sadly, driving on, his headlights cutting the night. Korea. That had been life. To date, probably his saddest, hardest experience in life. Looking back now, to what seemed a long time, a far-off time, tucked far away, in time, he could definitely say it, and see it: the saddest, the hardest—bar none. And all through it she had waited. That sweetheart, that darling, that only one. . . . He would love her, treasure her, forever. Looby Loo. When had he first given her that pet name? She had loved it, right from the start. It was part of her. Sometimes, signing checks, he knew, she had told him, she almost wrote it down. They laughed over it. They had soft little laughs over it. He loved her blond hair. It was natural. He couldn’t stand blond hair that wasn’t natural. He could spot it a mile off—anytime. Any old time. In Korea, all through it, her picture was in his pocket. During lulls, when he wrote to her, he would take it out, and lay it down, before him. His Company knew all about her. She was there, when he got back, waiting for him. She loved him. Who else had so loved him. And loved him? His mother, passed away now, had loved him. But a different love, certainly, wasn’t it? This was complete love, total, wasn’t it. For him, all of it. He adored her. He drove through a patch of light mist, thinking of her, warmly, he drove down Maple Avenue, along Tenth Street, across Linwood Drive, down Sawyers Avenue, the main business section of Sawyersville, lined with neon-lit stores, two moviehouses, baTS and grills, and into Twelfth Street, cruising easily, steadily, thinking, as always, looking out at a group of kids hanging around Jimmy’s Juke Joint, glancing at another group walking along possibly toward Giannari’s Pizzeria & Jump Joint. Certainly, their activities didn’t appear to be curtailed tonight. It surprised him, slightly. He wondered if any of his star athletes might be among them, hoping not, hoping if so they would have sense enough to get themselves home early, as per his curfew, for tonight would be pretty much of an impossibility for him to check up properly. That's life alright, Tiger thought, sadly, driving along, listening now to the next great tune coming out of the radio, introduced incomparably smoothly and soothingly by Bill somebody or other, Night Owl, and Prowler, self-styled. There's no explaining it, Tiger thought, the tragedy, the disaster, the sheer hell that all of life essentially is, look around you. Tiger thought, sadly, and especially for kids, for any kid, my kid, my own sweet kid, that kid, and the kid I once was, I was a kid, long ago, hell I'm getting old, long long ago, running around, in the summer sun, that good Sawyersville summer sun, what a sun, who else has such sun, thinking it was all one long summer sun, I hated winter, that was an intrusion and a half in my life which I couldn’t understand, long ago, no matter how often I saw it, it was all such a long time ago, my mom, my pop, Mom, Pop, on the porch, the summer sun. . . . For kids are full of hope and life and dreams, most kids anyhow, I rarely have met a negative kid, a genuinely antisocial kid, rarely, in all my long experience working with kids, and beauty and truth and good, most of all they want to grow up and fulfill all their dreams. . . .