Bud came back into the living room. “You... hocked your horn?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, isn’t that the end, though. I haven’t played in — how long has it been, Carol? You remember, I told you before.”
“Six months,” Carol said.
“Yeah. Man, I should cut a disk now. I’d be the greatest since Seven-Up. I’m lucky I can blow a C scale.” He shook his head. “Well, what’re you gonna do? That’s life.”
“What’s life?” Bud asked automatically.
“Huh?” Andy said, surprised. He smiled then and said, “Oh, yeah, sure. Why, Life’s a magazine.”
“How much does it cost?” Bud asked, falling into the old routine, remembering the hundreds of times they’d used it in the old days.
“Twenty cents,” Andy said.
“I’ve only got a dime.”
Andy shrugged. “Well, that’s life.”
“What’s life?” Bud said, and Andy burst out laughing.
“How do you like that? Man, I haven’t heard that bit in ages. Say, how are all the boys? Do you see any of them any more? Frank? Or Reen? Or what about Tony Banner? Old Ahmed Ben Banner? Is he still blowing that ruptured horn of his? Man, he never could play, you know.”
“He’s in Texas with the symphony orchestra there,” Bud said.
“Symphony? No joke? Man, I’m dead! Tony in symphony!”
“He picked up the oboe at Juilliard.”
“And Frank?”
“I still see him at school. There’s nothing there any more, though.”
“Yeah, well, friends drift. What about Reen?”
Bud looked at Andy curiously. “Reen was—”
“Tony blowing the oboe, huh? Damn, if that doesn’t cut it all. Who’d have dreamt he was serious about being a musician?”
“Is the coffee about ready?” Carol asked.
“Yes, it should be. Want to give me a hand?”
“Ah-ah,” Andy said, wagging his finger jokingly. “I don’t trust you two alone together.”
Bud smiled, and Carol tried to smile again, but the smile materialized as a painful parody. They went into the kitchen for the coffee, and Bud whispered, “Now, tell me what this is all—”
“Later,” she whispered back.
They brought out the coffee, sitting and drinking in silence. When they’d finished, Carol said, “Time to climb into the old shebang.”
“I keep forgetting you drive now.”
“She’s a regular cowboy,” Andy said. “You should see her.”
Bud brought Carol her duster and helped her into it. She went to Andy and said, “Be careful now. I’ll bring your horn and your music tomorrow.” She patted his hand and started for the door. “Will you walk me down, Bud? I’m afraid of dark streets.”
“Sure,” Bud said. “Make yourself comfortable, Andy. I’ll be right back.”
When they were in the hallway, he asked, “Now what—”
“He’ll hear you. Wait until we’re downstairs.”
He waited patiently. They walked out onto the sidewalk and then over to where her old Pontiac was parked. She climbed in and rolled down the window on his side.
“All right, what’s it all about?” he asked. “Why are you helping him?”
“I love him,” Carol said flatly.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Bud said.
“I love him now, and I’ve always loved him, and I guess I always will. That’s why — Bud, do you remember when we first found out? I was hurt then, and shocked, and all I could do was condemn. And then I tried to help later — the other times he tried to break it — but I didn’t give him enough. This time I’m going all the way. He’s got to break it, Bud! And I’m going to help him all I can. Bud, they... they say you never break the habit. They say it’s always with you, till the day you die. But I won’t believe that. I know he has to break it. Maybe he can’t do it alone, though, maybe... Bud, I want to help him. I want to see him the... way he used to be.”
“We all do, Carol, but how can we—”
“He’s wasting his life this way, Bud. And he’s wasting his talent. He has such a big talent, so big. I can’t see him waste that. And I can’t see him waste his life, either. Andy’s life is very important to me. He really intends to break the habit this time, and I’m going to help him do it.”
“If he really intends,” Bud said.
“He does. I can feel he does. And I want him to. I want him to so much that I... Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged you into it, but you were the only person I could think of. Do you understand?”
“He’s come this far before, Carol. But he always—”
“Yes, but this time he means it. He’s determined to lick it this time, Bud. You’ll see.”
“I hope so,” he said dubiously.
“I do, too. Oh, God, how I hope so.”
“You’ll be bringing his horn tomorrow?”
“Yes. He gave me the pawn ticket. It was one of the few tickets he didn’t sell.”
“All right, I’ll see you then.”
“Good night, Bud. Try to understand.” She leaned out of the car and kissed him on the cheek, and then she slid over behind the wheel. He waited until she started the car and pulled out into the street. He waved then, not at all sure she saw him.
Reluctantly, he turned back to the stoop of his building and started up the steps. He did not want to be alone with Andy Silvera.
2
Andy was standing by the windows when Bud came back into the room. He wondered if Andy’d been watching the conversation at the car, and he suddenly felt curiously uneasy.
Andy turned and smiled. His eyes did not smile with the rest of his face. His eyes remained fixed and staring, so that the smile seemed grotesque. “You’re bleeding,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Your cheek.”
“Oh. Yes.” Bud fumbled for a handkerchief. “Thanks.” He wiped Carol’s lipstick from his cheek, feeling strangely guilty, knowing he should not feel guilty over so innocent a thing as a good-night peck between friends, and yet feeling this enormous guilt, as if he were cheating with another man’s wife. He knew that Andy should have no doubts on that score, that Carol was simply a good friend and nothing more, and yet this good-night gesture of friendship had nonetheless brought on an embarrassed feeling of having been caught at something forbidden. If only Andy weren’t such a stranger, if only...
“She’s a wonderful girl,” Andy said.
“Carol?”
“Yes.”
“I always said so.”
They stood staring at each other awkwardly.
“Say, I certainly hope I’m not putting you out.”
“No, not at all,” Bud said.
The atmosphere was strained with Carol gone. Carol had been an oasis in a vast dry desert. Both men had approached the oasis with a common desire in mind. They both wanted water to irrigate their dusty, dead friendship. They had approached the oasis from opposite sides of the desert, and their common desire had negated the fact that they did not know each other. The oasis was gone now. They had tracked across a hot, wide expanse of sand and had come face to face with each other and had suddenly realized that they did not know each other, and their thirst had only intensified their plight. The silence was deafening. Even the room seemed strange to Bud, as if he did not really belong in it. He searched in his mind for some means of crashing through the silence. The effort only seemed to intensify the silence. He wet his lips and reached for something to say, but nothing came to his tongue.