The Lost (21 page)

“Okay. Where to?”

“Give me your arm.”

“Huh?”

“Give me your arm.”

He did. They strolled the line of vine-covered brown-stones. The street was noticeably clean. He always pictured New York City as filthy. Small lean struggling trees studded the curbside every building or so, fenced in against the inevitable dog piss. The air was thicker here than it was up north in Sparta, more sticky and humid but there was a breeze that made it tolerable. A real nice summer night. He felt like a million bucks walking with this girl on his arm, here in the Big City. He couldn’t wait to tell Tim and the guys.

He hoped he had enough cash. New York could be expensive, depending on what it was she wanted to do. He’d taken fifty out of his account that morning. Which, after gassing up, left him thirty-five or so. He figured it ought to be enough. He knew she’d probably have her own cash on her but to run through his and have to ask her for some would be humiliating. Especially here where everybody had money. Just to live in one of these brownstones you had to have money. They were a long, long way from Times Square. Which was basically all he knew about New York City.

A horror-movie double feature at Forty-second Street.

Beers at Jack Dempsey’s. Pricey beers but worth it for the old-time atmosphere and all the famous stars pictured on the walls. A place where you could almost feel like a star yourself just by standing at the bar.

The pale junkie dancers with pasties on their nipples at the Metropole.

Shops that sold whoopie cushions and fake vomit, knives and handcuffs.

That was what he knew. Not even Central Park, which she pointed out they were coming up to now. He’d heard the park was dangerous at night. You could get robbed and mugged. He could see a low stone wall across the street and a lot of tall trees behind it. Like the trees were being held prisoner there. They crossed the street and walked two blocks south and she led him up a set of stairs to a well-lit cobbled walkway leading into the park. The sign by the stairs said Tavern on the Green. There were shade trees and hedges and a trellis above him and electric streetlights that looked like gaslights from way-back-when.

He saw limos and cabs in the parking lot and people standing in front wearing business suits and long fancy summer dresses and a half a dozen horse-drawn carriages all waiting on the tourist trade. There was a doorman in some old-fashioned livery and a tall hat The front doors were elaborately carved wood with panels of etched glass, like they’d come off some English mansion.

He was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable about this but Kath walked him in like she owned the place. Walked him through the paneled, carpeted hallway to the big oak desk manned by two tall skinny guys in tuxes with Valentino-style slicked-back hair and said that they were here for drinks in the garden.

One of the guys smiled and said certainly, right this way and held the door for her. They stepped out into a great wide courtyard full of trees strewn with potted flowers and carefully tended hedges and white wrought-iron chairs and tables. There were white tablecloths on the tables and folded linen napkins. The trees were all hung with japanese lanterns, dozens of them. To his right through the wraparound windows he could see diners in the restaurant inside leaning over their dinners, bathed in an amber glow. Music was coming from somewhere, some kind of easy-listening rock ’n’ roll. Ordinarily the music would have annoyed him—in a car he’d
definitely
have changed the station. Here though, it seemed just about right. He could put up with nearly anything tonight anyhow.

Look who he was with.

A terrific long-legged blonde in a white shirt and tie and tight black skirt smiled and told them they could seat themselves wherever they liked. About two-thirds of the tables were full and packed close together. Katherine took him by the hand and led him through the crowd past one tree to another slightly off to one side and they sat down.

Already they’d got some glances. He definitely felt conspicuous. A
lot
conspicuous. For one thing everybody here looked over thirty, easy, unless you counted some of the little kids they’d dragged along. The one possible exception was the couple directly to their right who were probably in their late twenties but
dressed
as though they were in their thirties, young-Nixonite conservative style.

Plus, everybody looked like money up the ass. Solid upper-middle-class or better. He guessed he could smell cash as good as the next guy. And he smelled it all around him. He shook his head. He had to laugh.

“Kath, what in hell are we
doing
here?”

“We’re having drinks, silly.”

“Where’d you find this place? Your dad?”

She nodded. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. See that big old oak tree over there? My mother once shattered half a glass of banana daiquiri all over it.”

“What’d she do that for?”

“I guess she didn’t like her drink. Or else she was pissed at my father. I don’t remember. I just remember that tree with banana daiquiri running all down the trunk like some kind of milky goo.”

The long-legged blonde came by to take their order. He said scotch and soda. He figured that would do the trick sophistication-wise.

Kath laughed. “Banana daiquiri,” she said. “For old times’ sake.”

The waitress just smiled and said thank you. He guessed you learned not to question stuff in a place like this.

“You must have been embarrassed as hell. For your mom I mean.”

“Huh? Oh, not really. We got used to things like that from my mother.”

“You mean, like, she was just in the habit of throwing her drinks around and all?”

“You don’t want to know about my mother’s habits, believe me. They’d make all that pretty, wavy hair of yours stand on end.”

“You like it? Really?”

“What? Your hair?” She laughed. “Sure. Though I might go with a little less gunk on it if I were you.”

“It’s not gunk. Honest. Here, feel it.”

He bent his head a little and she smiled and reached over and ran her fingers lightly through his hair.

He wanted those beautiful fingers all over him
.

“See? Vitalis. Not Brylcream or that greasy stuff.”

“You’re right. Not gunk. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.”

She rubbed her fingers together and sniffed them.

“A little on the oily side, though.”

She dug in her purse and came out with a pack of cigarettes and shook one from the pack.

“Got a light?”

He took out his own pack of Marlboros and his Zippo and flipped back the top with his thumb and lit hers first and then his own. The click of the top drew glances. Some of them lingered. Fuck ’em.

“Want to play a little game?”

“What kind of game?”

As a general rule he didn’t like games unless they were ones of his making. He was wary.

“It’s called Truth.”

“Yeah?”

“I ask you a question, you have to answer it truthfully. No bullshit. You have to answer completely and truthfully and give it the best shot you can. Then you get to ask me a question. Same thing. Each person has, say, three questions each for starters.”

“I don’t get it. Who wins?”

She shrugged and took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled.

“Sometimes nobody wins. Sometimes everybody does.”

He thought about it.

“I dunno. Weird game.”

“You think so?”

“Sounds like some kind of head game to me.”

“No, it’s the opposite. See, head games are meant to fuck you up. Head games are when you’re messing around with illusion. Smoke-and-mirrors stuff. Not the truth. The truth can’t fuck you up, can it?”

He thought he knew about a hundred ways the truth could fuck you up, but he didn’t say so. From the look of her she did too.

She was daring him, that was all.

The drinks arrived and their waitress said she’d run a tab for them. He liked that. Back home it was strictly cash on the bar. Pay as you go. Though he did wonder what they were charging for the drinks here. It was New York City after all. Kadi’s daiquiri was pretty substantial but his scotch and soda could have been a whole lot bigger. He’d have to do two or three of them even to feel anything.

The daiquiri had a cherry on top and a wedge of orange perched on the rim.

“You’re not gonna heave that thing at any trees, are you?”

She smiled. “I don’t know. I haven’t tasted it yet.” She took a sip through the straw. “I think I’ll just drink it for now. So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About the game.”

She had him over a barrel here. If he said no it’d look like he was chicken. Like he had something to hide. Of course he
did
have a thing or two to hide. Everybody did. On the other hand if he played along he was supposed to tell the truth to her about whatever the hell she asked him. He didn’t mind doing that, depending on
what
she asked him. He wondered how good her bullshit detector was. Maybe he could finesse her.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Go ahead. Ask me something.”

He took a hit of the scotch. She squinted, like she was considering him.

“We’ll start out easy. Ray, do you dye your hair?”

He laughed.

“Not personally, no.”

“Unh-unh. You’re supposed to answer truthfully and
completely
, remember?”

“Okay, all right. I have this girl who does it for me once a month. A shop over in Newton. Cuts it and styles it and gives it a touch-up. I guess it’s kinda unusual for a guy but shit, everything’s unisex these days anyway. My real-color hair’s not bad but it’s a little mousy brown for me. I just happen to like this better. And then, you know, there’s the band.”

Not bad, he thought. In fact he thought he did pretty good. He’d admitted to an eccentricity, sure. But also to having a certain amount of taste that set him apart from other guys, guys who were just run-of-the-mill, everyday slobs sitting in barbershops. And he’d done it without sounding defensive.

Not bad at all.

“My turn now, right?”

“Right.”

He thought about it and sipped his drink. The drink was almost gone already.

“Okay. What do you really think of me?”

She laughed. “Well first of all, I hardly know you. But all right. You’re funny, quirky in a way I kind of like. Good-looking, conceited.”

“
Conceited?”

“Conceited. And in this game you’re not allowed to interrupt. Let’s see, what else? You’re a good driver. You’re a pretty good dresser though I’m not too sure about the leather jacket and cowboy boots in August. You hang around with a bunch of losers. But I can’t much blame you for that. Sparta’s ninety percent losers anyway from what I can see. And you have secrets. You talk a lot but you don’t say much. I find that . . . kind of interesting.”

“That’s it? That’s all?”

“For now. My turn. Are you actually
fucking
Jennifer?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not.”

“
Never?”

“Isn’t that another question? I thought it was my turn now.”

He got her. She smiled and then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He resolved never to fuck Jennifer again, which would make what he’d said fairly close to the truth. It was no huge loss. Especially not if he was going to be fucking Katherine.

“So. Are you attracted to me?”

She laughed. “You see? I
told
you you were conceited. That’s two questions and they’re both about you.”

“No they’re not. I’m trying to figure out how you see me is all. Your own personal perception, I mean. That’s different, isn’t it?”

“Sure, Ray. If you say so. Okay. Yeah, I find you attractive. That doesn’t necessarily say I’m going to do anything about it, you understand. But yes. In a strange sort of way, yeah, sure. I do.”

He wasn’t so sure about what that
strange sort of way
stuff was but now he knew at least he had her going. She sipped her daiquiri and stared at him.

“
What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
she said.

Maybe it was the beers and the daiquiri working on her but she said it loudly.

He felt suddenly like everybody in the courtyard was staring at him or at least stealing sidelong glances, dozens of eyes on him sitting there with an almost empty glass of whiskey in front of him,
Ray in a T-shirt and jeans with a silver chain around his neck while everybody else was wearing white shirts and ties, college grads for sure most of them while he hadn’t even finished high school, all these people waiting to hear the answer to her question, what was the worst thing this out-of-town guy who obviously didn’t belong here had ever done
.

The music didn’t seem loud enough. The talk and laughter at the tables didn’t seem loud enough. There was no way he could tell her anyway. Though there was a moment there when crazily enough, he actually wanted to.