Bud ran past the water fountain and then headed for the bend in the path. He rounded the bend quickly, out of breath now, his throat burning. Andy was nowhere in sight.
“Andy!” he shouted. “Andy, it’s me, Bud!”
A governess walked by pushing a baby carriage. She stared at Bud curiously and then hurried past with her charge.
“Andy!” he screamed, his throat hoarse.
Where, where? he thought. Where could he be? Where do you go to hide? Anywhere on either side of the path, yes, yes. Which side? Eeny, meeny, miney, max. Which side of the path? He must have got the drug and a syringe. And a spoon, yes, I have measured out my life with tablespoons. Where, which? He considered for a moment and then rushed off the left side of the path and then onto the steeply sloping grass, plowing his way into the trees.
“Andy!” he yelled again, craning his neck, twisting this way and that, climbing, searching, watching. He spotted the high rocks, and he immediately thought, Behind the rocks, and he climbed faster, beginning to sweat freely now, the sweat running down his chest, his undershirt sopping it up. He reached the big gray boulders and then ran around to the other side of them.
Andy was sitting on one of the rocks.
His head was bent and his arms dangled down between his knees, one hand tight around a syringe, and Bud thought, I’m too late, he’s taken it.
“Andy,” he said softly.
Andy looked up suddenly, as if someone had jabbed him in the ribs. A snarl suddenly appeared on his mouth. “Relax,” he said harshly. “I didn’t shoot up.”
“You—”
“I didn’t shoot up, bloodhound! Goddamnit, I didn’t shoot up.” He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and the snarl left his mouth, a real animal snarl that suddenly vanished to be replaced by the immature lips again.
“I was going to,” he said softly. He did not seem to be talking to Bud. His hands were clenched together, the syringe between them, and his head was bent, as if he were praying. The words were almost whispered. “I could taste it. I could taste the rotten stuff right in my mouth. But I didn’t shoot up. I didn’t.”
Bud kept staring at him saying nothing.
“Don’t you believe me?” Andy shouted. “Goddamnit, don’t you believe me? Doesn’t anybody ever believe me? Look!” His voice rose to a strident scream. “Look, you skeptical son-of-a-bitch! Look!” He lifted the syringe to Bud’s face. “Here’s the goddamn syringe, now do you believe me? It’s empty, can you see that, can you see it, now do you believe me?”
“Andy...”
“Shut up!” He turned his head quickly, but not before Bud could see the tears in his eyes. “I copped on the Union Floor,” he said softly, his rage spent. “The works, Bud. The H, and the spike, and the spoon. You don’t need a spoon, you know. You can use a bottle cap, too. You take the cork out of it, and you cook the jive in that — if you haven’t got a spoon. But a spoon is cleaner, so I grabbed one in the cafeteria, have it right here in my pocket, and I’ve got the stuff, too, all ready to knock the top of my skull off, and the spike... you see the syringe right here... Jesus, Jesus...”
He was suddenly sobbing, deep sobs that started somewhere down near the pit of his stomach and shuddered up into his throat.
“I suddenly realized what a big stupid jackass I was being. I all at once thought of the Laddy Fredericks gig, and I told myself, ‘Go ahead, you dumb jerk, go ahead shoot up. Shoot up, and you shoot this audition straight to hell!’ I almost threw the spike down into the dirt there. I almost threw it down like it was a snake. I would have stepped on the goddamn thing, but I borrowed the works from a guy on the Floor, and I’ll have to return it. Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, when am I gonna learn, when the holy hell am I going to learn? I hocked your bag, Bud, forgive me for that, forgive me, please.”
“That’s all right,” Bud said softly.
“I got ten bucks for it, and I blew the ten on this junk here in my pocket. But I’ll sell it, Buddy, I’ll sell it and redeem your bag. When I return the works, I’ll sell it to the guy loaned it to me. Not today. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I don’t want to chance being left alone again, you understand? I want to make sure. Then I’ll return the works, and I’ll sell the H, and I’ll redeem your bag, believe me.”
“Maybe you’d better give me the stuff,” Bud said.
“No, no, I’ve got to sell it.” He had stopped sobbing. He reached into his back pocket for a handkerchief and then he blew his nose noisily. “Don’t worry, Bud. If I didn’t take it this time, then I’ve seen the light. I swear to Christ, I could taste it. You went down for the eggs, and I put on some Kenton, and just listening to him I began to think of other times and, man, I could taste it, I could just taste the stuff. But I didn’t shoot up, Bud. I’ve still got it, right here in my pocket. And here’s the syringe, right in my hand, but empty, empty. I’ve had it, man. I’ve seen the light, daddy.” He sighed and shook his head.
“You sure you don’t want to return the syringe now?”
“No, he’ll live without it. He wouldn’t’ve laid it on me if it was his only outfit, anyway. He’ll wait.”
“Shall we go back to the apartment, then?”
Andy nodded. He put the syringe into his pocket and then said, “All right, let’s go.”
She was waiting in front of the building when the cab pulled up. Andy looked through the window and said, “The welcoming committee.” They got out of the cab, and he went directly to Carol and said, “Relax, I didn’t shoot up.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Carol said. “Besides, I can see you didn’t.”
“Is that my horn?” he asked, seeing the trumpet case on the stoop.
“Yes. I was going to bring it over later, but I thought—”
“Gone, gone,” he said. He walked up the steps quickly, lifted the case to one knee, and opened it. “Man, look at the mother-lover,” he said. “Oh, look at it.”
Bud came up onto the stoop. “Hello, Carol,” he said.
“Hello, Bud.”
“We had quite a chase. But he’s all right.”
“I’m glad. I was going to wait at the office for your call, but I just couldn’t. I begged off a few hours, and I came right here. Thank God he’s all right.”
“Can you use some breakfast?” he asked her.
“I think so.”
“I feel as if I haven’t eaten for ten years,” Bud said. “There’s nothing like a sprint around Central Park for working up an appetite.”
“And there’s Arban’s!” Andy said. “Christ, that old brown cover. Carol, you’re an ever-loving— And what’s this? Oh, gone, gone. All my books. Where’d you get them, Carol? My mother’s place?”
“Yes. I went by last night. I thought—”
“Oh, this is great, great. Man, I can hardly wait to start blowing. Make way for the Boston Symphony!” He laughed aloud, and then he snapped the case shut and threw one arm around Carol’s shoulders. “Honey, you’re a doll. Did I ever tell you that? And I passed the fix by, honey, how’s that for will power? I’ve got the jive right here in my pocket, but I didn’t touch it. Now, sweetheart, is that will power, or is it? Come on, answer me? Is it, or is it?”
Carol smiled weakly. “It is,” she said. Her brow wrinkled. “You still have the stuff?”
“Sure. Got to sell it so I can redeem Bud’s bag.”
“Give it to me,” Carol said. “I’ll redeem Bud’s bag.”
“Oh, no,” Andy said. “No, no, sweetheart. I hocked it, I redeem it. Besides, this is a challenge. Right here in my pocket, you dig me? Right here where I can grab it any time I want it — but I’m not even sniffing at it. Honeydoll, that’s will power. Baby, I’ve got it licked, I tell you.”