“I mean... right now.”
“Not at all,” he said.
“Well, I’m supposed to be a hostess. Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”
She took his hand unconsciously, and only after his fingers closed on hers did she realize what she’d done. And yet she felt no embarrassment, no uneasiness. The taking of his hand had been the most natural thing in the world for her to do, it seemed. And recognizing the validity of her intuitive gesture, she purposely submerged any conscious doubts, and she found herself thinking she would take this as it came, expecting nothing, and therefore avoiding any disappointment that might result from great expectations. They walked together to where a knot of boys and girls were standing near the record player.
“Here’s Helen now,” one of the girls said. “Helen’ll know. Helen, what was the theme of Freshman Sing last year?”
“Comic Books,” Helen said instantly.
“There, you see?” the girl said.
“I still think it was the Gold Rush,” a bespectacled boy said.
“Oh, what do you know about Sing, anyway?” the girl answered.
“Kids, this is Bud Donato,” Helen said. “Bud, meet, left to right, Gladys Aronowitz, Marcia Steele, Dave Annunziato...” The boy with the spectacles extended his hand, and Bud took it.
Helen gestured to a tall thin boy with a crew cut and brown eyes.
“Rick Dadier, Bud.”
Bud took his hand. “Nice knowing you, Rick.”
“Same here,” the boy said. He dismissed Bud almost instantly. “Helen, have you seen Anne? I’ve been— Never mind, never mind, there she is. Excuse me, will you, Bud? Nice meeting you.” He left the circle and headed over toward where a pretty blonde was chatting with what appeared to be a faculty adviser.
“Whatever the theme was,” Annunziato said, “it was lousy.”
“You’re prejudiced,” Gladys said. “You expect freshmen to be lousy, and so your stereotyped picture prejudices your entire outlook. If you—”
“Would you like to dance, Bud?” Helen asked, seeing his discomfort.
“Yes,” he said eagerly.
They went onto the floor together, listening to the music, and then — surprisingly — flowing into it instantly, the way they always had done, as if their training were able to survive the longest separation. She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, at the block party, and the awkward stumblings they’d experienced that night, and she felt again this sense of everything’s going perfectly, and she was frightened for a moment that it was going too perfectly, that something would happen to spoil it, that this change she sensed in him was not a real change at all.
“Since you are Recording Secretary,” Bud said, “I surmise you are now going to Hunter.”
“Yes. And since you are here, I likewise surmise you are going to City.”
“Yes.”
“Round one,” Helen said. “Draw.”
“How do you like it? School, I mean?”
“Very much. I’ve turned into a regular bookworm.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. You wouldn’t recognize me, Bud.”
“You look the same to me.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t expect it would show.”
“How have you been, Helen?”
“Fine, Bud. Are you glad to be home? That’s a stupid question, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s fairly stupid, yes,” he said, smiling.
“That’s what I love about you. Your frankness.” She had used the word “love,” and the word had not pained her, and it seemed not to disturb him, but it caused them both to fall into a momentary silence. And then, as if the word generated his next question, he asked, “Are you married, engaged, pregnant?”
“None, thank you.”
“Well, that’s good.” He seemed genuinely pleased. He seemed, in fact, almost relieved.
“Is it?”
“Well, sure. Maybe we can... get together sometime.”
“Maybe,” Helen said. She did not press it further. She kept expecting the bubble to explode. “Who spiked the punch bowl? One of your boys?”
“Yes.”
“We can use more spiked punch bowls at Hunter. The only spiked things at Hunter are the shoes on the girls’ feet.”
“Well, you’ve got men now.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Maybe I’ll transfer.”
“You’d be in your element. Something like twenty to one, I’d imagine.”
“You still dance very well,” he said.
“I thank you, sir.” She paused. “We didn’t dance well together at all the last time we...” She hesitated, wondering if she should touch upon so hazardous a subject. Again her intuition took over, and she threw caution to the winds. “I meant, at the block party.”
“Oh, yes. Did you have a good time with Tony that night?”
“He took me straight home,” she said.
“Oh, I see.”
“I wanted to be with you.”
“That doesn’t make much sense.”
“It did, at the time. Things are a little different now.”
“How do you mean?”
She looked up into his face. “You seem changed, Bud.”
“I’m not, really.”
“Well, you seem so. Besides, maybe it isn’t right to question a person’s motives so thoroughly.”
“Which means?”
“Which means... perhaps I should have behaved differently the last time we were together.”
“Which further means?”
“How should I know? Why don’t you pay attention?”
He laughed and squeezed her closer, and she laughed with him, reflecting that this was the first honest laugh she’d had in as long as she could remember.
“I should have written to you, Helen.”
“I know you should have.”
“Isn’t it funny?”
“What, Bud?”
“I feel as if I’d seen you only yesterday and not— It’s more than a year, isn’t it?”
“That’s our fate, Buddy. We meet every year, on schedule. We exchange a few words and then both go off to our separately revolving worlds, bitter and disillusioned.”
“You sound like an English major.”
“I’m not. Psych.”
“No kidding?”
“Certainly. Do you know something?”
“What’s that?”
“Half the Psych majors at Hunter are afraid they’re neurotic or psychotic. That’s why they take the major. It’s cheaper than a psychiatrist. What’s your major?”