Her beauty did not shriek at you, but it demanded attention in a quietly unassuming way. You looked at Carol and your eyes lingered, and you found yourself staring at her incredible beauty, and then wondering why you stared, and then realizing that you couldn’t help staring. You turned away, but your eyes roamed back again of their own volition until you began to feel guilty and a little embarrassed, until you were certain she too was uncomfortable. Only later did you realize that Carol was almost totally unaware of her compelling good looks, that she had learned to live with them the way someone learns to live with the Mona Lisa in his living room.
Her hair was an ash blond, clipped close to her head, casually falling onto her forehead in the front, hugging the nape of her neck in the back. She had wide brown eyes fringed with lashes a shade darker than her hair. Her nose was not a perfect nose, perhaps a little too long for her face, but it blended with the rest of her features so that it seemed an integral part of the whole, a part without which the beauty would have been marred, perfect as it was, though not classically perfect. Her mouth was wide, with full lips that rarely smiled any more.
That’s how Carol has changed, he thought. She doesn’t smile any more. He could remember the brilliance of her smile, and he blamed Andy for taking away the smile and for replacing it with the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
He wondered why she had tried to help him over the years, wondered why she was indeed trying to help him now, and he realized abruptly that he didn’t know half of Andy’s full story, that probably no one but Andy would ever know that story. And then, simultaneously, he remembered that he would be living with Andy for the next week — no, actually longer than a week, until June first he had said — hell, that was almost two weeks. How had they talked him into this, how in God’s holy name had he got talked into this crazy deal?
“...guys who had used up the tread marks on their legs already, their legs, mind you, and were starting a retread on their arms. Did you ever see an addict’s arm, Bud?”
“What?”
“An addict’s arm. Man, here take a look.” He took off his jacket and threw it onto the sofa, and for the first time Bud noticed what he was wearing. A good jacket, blue flannel, with a DePinna label showing on the inside pocket. He’d always dressed well, but it seemed strange that he’d cling to an expensive jacket. Didn’t drug addicts hock everything they owned? The sports shirt was a cheap one, but it was in good taste, patterned with a simple motif. Andy was rolling up the sleeve now, patiently creasing the folds. He seemed to lose patience with the task almost immediately, and he shoved the wadded material up to his biceps and said, “Here, Buddy, look at this.”
There was something of pride in his voice, or awe, Bud couldn’t tell which. The arm was a tangled stretch of brownish-red puncture marks, blurred together until they resembled a healed burn, the scar tissue of broken and repeatedly rebroken skin.
“How do you like that?” Andy said, and Bud again felt this unwarranted pride, or awe, or boastfulness, or perhaps bravado — perhaps that’s what it was. “That’s an addict’s arm, man. Pretty, huh?”
Bud could only nod dumbly.
“Don’t ever get started on this stuff, man,” Andy said. “I’m telling you, it’s murder.”
“Why’d you start?” Bud asked, the words sounding more accusing than he’d intended them to be.
“You tell me,” Andy answered. “That’s the sixty-four-dollar one, all right. Well, I’m off it now, that’s for sure. I’ve kicked the habit, and it’s going to stay kicked.”
“He means it this time,” Carol said.
“Oh, I mean it, all right. I wouldn’t be barging in like this if I didn’t, Bud. Hell, I know what you must be thinking. Guy pops up after — how long has it been? No, I wouldn’t barge in if I wasn’t serious this time. That’s why this means so much to me. If I’d kept my old place, well, I’d always be running into the old crowd. Not Helen, no, because she’s already kicked it and, man, it’s poison to her. I used to see a lot of her, you know, but not since she kicked it. But all the others, you know. ‘Come on, Andy, let’s scout up the Man’ or, ‘Hey, Andy, how about a fix, man?’ — you know, like that. Hell, there’s always somebody with some of the junk on him, and how can you resist it when it’s right there under your nose?
“This way, I’m cut off from it, not that I even get the yen now, man, I’ve been heaving my guts out for the past week, but even if I did want some, I couldn’t get it, now could I? You don’t keep any, do you, Bud — no, I didn’t think you did. Living with my folks would have been safe, too, but I just can’t make that, Buddy, well you know what a drag that always was. My mother always fussing around me with her waving little hands, and my dad just ignoring me. Hell, I mean it’s not his fault. He was forty-two when I was born, and when a first kid comes unexpected like that, you can’t expect the father to go rolling around on the floor in glee. But that doesn’t make it any less a drag, now does it? So I appreciate what you’re doing, I really do. Once I’ve kicked it for good, once I get on this band, well things are going to be much better.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Bud weighed his earlier reluctance against the sudden title of benefactor which had been thrust upon him.
“Helen kicked it, you know,” Andy said. “She kicked that monkey clear off her back. A good kid, Helen. Say, did you know I was the one got her hooked, did you? Say, look, if you want to get back to your studying...”
“No, that’s all right.”
“I hate like hell to impose on you this way, but I thought...”
“It’s no imposition at all, believe me,” Bud lied.
“Well, I appreciate it, you can bet on that.”
“Would you like some coffee?” Bud asked.
“None for me,” Andy said. “I’m lucky I’ve kept my supper down. I don’t want to tempt the gods.”
“Carol, how about you?”
“If we can have a fast cup. I’ve got to be running.”
“I use instant,” Bud said. “It’ll be ready in an instant.” Andy chuckled a bit, and Carol attempted a smile which didn’t quite come off. Bud rose and walked into the kitchen, filling the pot with water and setting it on the stove. He took down the cups and was spooning coffee into them when Andy started talking again.
“You musn’t misunderstand about my dad, Bud,” he said. “I mean, he’s all right, that’s for sure, but he doesn’t understand about me. I mean, like he never did, you know, even when I was a kid. Never had much time for me, never played ball with me, or cared about what kind of clothes I wore — stuff like that. Funny, I guess. He worries more about me now than he did when I really needed his worry — well, hell, he’s an accountant, how many accountants have addict sons? He sicced a private detective on me once, would you believe it? That was after I went off with my mother’s watch — well, I shouldn’t have done that, I know it, but the watch was just laying there, and, man, did I need a fix, this was the last time I tried to kick the habit, did Carol tell you about it? The dick was a good one, and he stuck with me for four days. I finally shook him at a session up in Harlem. I used to blow at a lot of sessions before I hocked my horn.”