Chapter 2 1 страница

 

I had hoped the weather would be cool for my lunch with Bunny, because my best jacket was a scratchy dark tweed, but when I woke on Saturday it was hot and getting hotter.

'Gonna be a scorcher today, ' said the janitor as I passed him in the hall. 'Indian summer. '

The jacket was beautiful – Irish wool, gray with flecks of mossy green; I had bought it in San Francisco with nearly every cent I'd saved from my summer job – but it was much too heavy for a warm sunny day. I put it on and went to the bathroom to straighten my tie.

I was in no mood for talk and I was unpleasantly surprised to find Judy Poovey brushing her teeth at the sink. Judy Poovey lived a couple of doors down from me and seemed to think that because she was from Los Angeles we had a lot in common. She cornered me in hallways; tried to make me dance at parties; had told several girls that she was going to sleep with me, only in less delicate terms. She had wild clothes, frosted hair, a red Corvette with California plates bearing the legend judy p. Her voice was loud and rose frequently to a screech, which rang through the house like the cries of some terrifying tropical bird.

'Hi, Richard, ' she said, and spit out a mouthful of toothpaste.

She was wearing cut-off jeans that had bizarre, frantic designs drawn on them in Magic Marker and a spandex top which revealed her intensely aerobicized midriff.

'Hello, ' I said, setting to work on my tie.

'You look cute today. '

'Thanks. '

'Got a date? '

I looked away from the mirror, at her. 'What? '

'Where you going? '

By now, I was used to her interrogations, 'Out to lunch. '

'Who with? '

'Bunny Corcoran. '

'You know Bunny? '

Again, I turned to look at her. 'Sort of. Do you? '

'Sure. He was in my art history class. He's hilarious. I hate that geeky friend of his, though, the other one with the glasses, what's his name? '

'Henry? '

'Yeah, him. ' She leaned towards the mirror and began to fluff out her hair, swiveling her head this way and that. Her nails were Chanel red but so long they had to be the kind you bought at the drugstore. 'I think he's an asshole. '

'I kind of like him, ' I said, offended.

'I don't. ' She parted her hair in the center, using the curved talon of her forefinger as a comb. 'He's always been a bastard to me. I hate those twins, too. '

'Why? The twins are nice. '

'Oh yeah? ' she said, rolling a mascaraed eye at me in the mirror. 'Listen to this. I was at this party last term, really drunk, and sort of slam-dancing, right? Everybody was crashing into everybody else, and for some reason this girl twin was walking through the dance floor and pow, I slammed right into her, really hard. So then she says something rude, like totally uncalled for, and first thing I knew I'd thrown my beer in her face. It was that kind of a night. I'd already had about six beers thrown on me, and it just seemed like the thing to do, you know?

'So anyway, she starts yelling at me and in about half a second there's the other twin and that Henry guy standing over me like they're about to beat me up. ' She pulled her hair back from her face in a ponytail and inspected her profile in the mirror. 'So anyway. I'm drunk, and these two guys are leaning over me in this menacing way, and you know that I Iciiry, he's really big. It was kind of scary but I was too drunk to care so I just told them to fuck off, ' She turned from the mirror and smiled brilliantly. 'I was drinking Kamikazes that night. Something terrible always happens to me when I drink Kamikazes. I wreck my car, I get into fights…"

'What happened? '

She shrugged and turned back to the mirror. 'Like I said, I just told them to fuck off. And the boy twin, he starts screaming at me. Like he really wants to kill me, you know? And that Henry just standing there, right, but to me he was scarier than the other one. So anyway. A friend of mine who used to go here and who's really tough, he was in this motorcycle gang, into chains and shit – ever heard of Spike Romney? '

I had; in fact I'd seen him at my first Friday-night party. He was tremendous, well over two hundred pounds, with scars on his hands and steel toe-clips on his motorcycle boots.

'Well, anyway, so Spike comes up and sees these people abusing me, and he shoves the twin on the shoulder and tells him to beat it, and before I knew it, the two of them had jumped on him. People were trying to pull that Henry off, too – lots of them, and they couldn't do it. Six guys couldn't pull him off.

Broke Spike's collarbone and two of his ribs, and fucked up his face pretty bad. I told Spike he should've called the cops, but he was in some kind of trouble himself and wasn't supposed to be on campus. It was a bad scene, though. ' She let her hair fall back around her face. 'I mean, Spike is tough. And mean. You'd think he'd be able to beat the shit out of both those sissy guys in suits and ties and stuff. '

'Hmm, ' I said, trying not to laugh. It was funny to think of Henry, with his little round glasses and his books in Pali, breaking Spike Romney's collarbone.

'It's weird, ' said Judy. 'I guess when uptight people like that get mad, they get really mad. Like my father. '

'Yeah, I guess so, ' I said, looking back into the mirror and adjusting the knot on my tie.

'Have a good time, ' she said listlessly, and started out the door. Then she stopped. 'Say, aren't you going to get hot in that jacket? '

'Only good one I have. '

'You want to try on this one I've got? '

I turned and looked at her. She was a major in Costume, Design and as such had all kinds of peculiar clothing in her room. ›j 'Is it yours? ' I said.

'I stole it from the wardrobe at the Costume shop. I was going to cut it up and make, like, a bustier out of it. ' *j Great, I thought, but I went along with her anyway. H The jacket, unexpectedly, was wonderful – old Brooks Brothers, unlined silk, ivory with stripes of peacock green – a little loose, but it fit all right. 'Judy, ' I said, looking at my cuffs.

'This is wonderful. You sure you don't mind? '

'You can have it, ' said Judy. 'I don't have time to do anything with it. I'm too busy sewing those damned costumes for fucking As You Like It. It goes up in three weeks and I don't know what I'm going to do. I've got all these freshmen working for me this term that don't know a sewing machine from a hole in the ground. '

'By the way, love that jacket, old man, ' Bunny said to me as we were getting out of the taxi. 'Silk, isn't it? '

'Yes. It was my grandfather's. '

Bunny pinched a piece of the rich, yellowy cloth near the cuff and rubbed it back and forth between his fingers. 'Lovely piece, ' he said importantly. 'Not quite the thing for this time of year, though. '

'No? ' I said.

'Naw. This is the East Coast, boy. I know they're pretty laissez-faire about dress in your neck of the woods, but back here 52. they don't let you run around in your bathing suit all year long.

Blacks and blues, that's the ticket, blacks and blues… Here, let me get that door for you. You know, I think you'll like this place.

Not exactly the Polo Lounge, but for Vermont it's not too bad, do you think? '

It was a tiny, beautiful restaurant with white tablecloths and bay windows opening onto a cottage garden – hedges and trellised roses, nasturtiums bordering the flagstone path. The customers were mostly middle-aged and prosperous: ruddy country-lawyer types who, according to the Vermont fashion, wore gumshoes with their Hickey-Freeman suits; ladies with frosted lipstick and challis skirts, nice looking in a kind of well-tanned, low-key way.

A couple glanced up at us as we came in, and I was well aware of the impression we were making- two handsome college boys, rich fathers and not a worry in the world. Though the ladies were mostly old enough to be my mother, one or two were actually quite attractive. Nice work if you could get it, I thought, imagining some youngish matron with a big house and nothing to do and a husband out of town on business all the time. Good dinners, some pocket money, maybe even something really big, like a car…

A waiter sidled up. 'You have a reservation? '

'Corcoran party, ' said Bunny, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. 'Where's Caspar keeping himself today? '

'On vacation. He'll be back in two weeks. '

'Well, good for him, ' said Bunny heartily.

Till tell him you asked for him. '

'Do that, wouldja? '

'Caspar's a super guy, ' Bunny said as we followed the waiter to the table. 'Maitre d'. Big old fellow with moustaches, Austrian or something. And not' – he lowered his voice to a loud whisper 'not a fag, either, if you can believe that. Queers love to work in restaurants, have you ever noticed that? I mean, every single fag '

I saw the back of our waiter's neck stiffen slightly.

'- I have ever known has been obsessed with food. I wonder, why is that? Something psychological? It seems to me that '

I put a finger to my lips and nodded at the waiter's back, just as he turned and gave us an unspeakably evil look.

'Is this table all right, gentlemen? ' he said.

'Sure, ' said Bunny, beaming.

The waiter presented our menus with affected, sarcastic delicacy and stalked off. I sat down and opened the wine list, my face burning. Bunny, settling in his chair, took a sip of water and looked around happily. 'This is a great place, ' he said.

'It's nice. '

'But not the Polo, ' He rested an elbow on the table and raked the hair back from his eyes. 'Do you go there often? The Polo, I mean. '

'Not much. ' I'd never even heard of it, which was perhaps understandable as it was about four hundred miles from where I lived.

'Seems like the kinda place you'd go with your father, ' said Bunny pensively. 'For man-to-man talks and stuff. My dad's like that about the Oak Bar at the Plaza. He took me and my brothers there to buy us our first drink when we turned eighteen. '

I am an only child; people's siblings interest me. 'Brothers? ' I said. 'How many? '

'Four. Teddy, Hugh, Patrick and Brady. ' He laughed. 'It was terrible when Dad took me because I'm the baby, and it was such a big thing, and he was all " Here, son, have your first drink" and " Won't be long before you're sitting in my place" and " Probably I'll be dead soon" and all that kind of junk. And the whole time there I was scared stiff. About a month before, my buddy Cloke and I had come up from Saint Jerome's for the day to work on a history project at the library, and we'd run up a huge bill at the Oak Bar and slipped off without paying. You know, boyish spirits, but there I was again, with my dad. '

'Did they recognize you? '

'Yep, ' he said grimly. 'Knew they would. But they were pretty decent about it. Didn't say anything, just tacked the old bill onto my dad's. '

I tried to picture the scene: the drunken old father, in a three-piece suit, swishing his Scotch or whatever it was he drank around in the glass. And Bunny. He looked a little soft but it was the softness of muscle gone to flesh. A big boy, the sort who played football in high school. And the sort of son every father secretly wants: big and good-natured and not awfully bright, fond of sports, gifted at backslapping and corny jokes. 'Did he notice? '

I said. 'Your dad? '

'Naw. He was three sheets to the wind. If I'd of been the bartender at the Oak Room he wouldn't have noticed. '

The waiter was heading towards us again.

'Look, here comes Twinkletoes, ' said Bunny, busying himself with the menu. 'Know what you want to eat? '

'What's in that, anyway? ' I asked Bunny, leaning to look at the drink the waiter had brought him. It was the size of a small fishbowl, bright coral, with colored straws and paper parasols and bits of fruit sticking out of it at frenetic angles.

Bunny pulled out one of the parasols and licked the end of it.

'Lots of stuff. Rum, cranberry juice, coconut milk, triple sec, peach brandy, creme de menthe, I don't know what all. Taste it, it's good. '

'No thanks. '

'C'mon. '

'That's okay. '

'C'mon. '

'No thank you, I don't want any, ' I said.

'First time I ever had one of these was when I was in Jamaica, two summers ago, ' said Bunny reminiscently. 'Bartender named Sam cooked it up for me. " Drink three of these, son, " he said, " and you won't be able to find the door" and bless me, I couldn't.

Ever been to Jamaica? '

'Not recently, no. '

'Probably you're used to palm trees and coconuts and all that sort of thing, in California and all., ' thought it was wonderful.

Bought a pink bathing suit with flowers on it and everything.

Tried to get Henry to come down there with me but he said there was no culture, which I don't think is true, they did have | some kind of a little museum or something. ' 3 'You get along with Henry? '

'Oh, sure thing, ' said Bunny, reared back in his chair. 'We were roommates. Freshman year. '

'And you like him? '

'Certainly, certainly. He's a hard fellow to live with, though.

Hates noise, hates company, hates a mess. None of this bringing your date back to the room to listen to a couple Art Pepper records, if you know what I'm trying to get at. '

'I think he's sort of rude. '

Bunny shrugged. 'That's his way. See, his mind doesn't work the same way yours and mine do. He's always up in the clouds with Plato or something. Works too hard, takes himself too seriously, studying Sanskrit and Coptic and those other nutty languages. Henry, I tell him, if you're going to waste your time learning something besides Greek – that and the King's English are all I think a man needs, personally – why don't you buy yourself some Berlitz records and brush up on your French. Find a little cancan girl or something. Voolay-voo coushay avec moi and all that. '

'How many languages does he know? '

'I lost count. Seven or eight. He can read hieroglyphics. '

'Wow. '

Bunny shook his head fondly. 'He's a genius, that boy. He could be a translator for the UN if he wanted to be. '

'Where's he from? '

'Missouri. '

He said this in such a deadpan way I thought he was joking, and I laughed.

Bunny raised an amused eyebrow. 'What? You thought he was from Buckingham Palace or something? '

I shrugged, still laughing. Henry was so peculiar, it was hard to imagine him being from anyplace.

'Yep, ' said Bunny. 'The Show-Me State. St Louis boy like old Tom Eliot. Father's some kind of a construction tycoon – and not quite aboveboard, either, so my cousins in St Lou tell me.

Not that Henry will give you the slightest clue what his dad does.

Acts like he doesn't know and certainly doesn't care. '

'Have you been to his house? '

'Are you kidding? He's so secretive, you'd think it was the Manhattan Project or something. But I met his mother one time.

Kind of by accident. She stopped in Hampden to see him on her way to New York and I bumped into her wandering around downstairs in Monmouth asking people if they knew where his room was. '

'What was she like? '

'Pretty lady. Dark hair and blue eyes like Henry, mink coat, too much lipstick and stuff if you ask me. Awfully young. Henry's her only chick and she adores him. ' He leaned forward and lowered his voice. 'Family's got money like you wouldn't believe. Millions and millions. Course it's about as new as it comes, but a buck's a buck, know what I mean? ' He winked. 'By the way.

Meant to ask. How does your pop earn his filthy lucre? '

'Oil, ' I said. It was partly true.

Bunny's mouth fell open in a little round o. 'You have oil wells? '

'Well, we have one, ' I said modestly.

'But it's a good one? '

'So they tell me. '

'Boy, ' said Bunny, shaking his head. 'The Golden West. '

'It's been good to us, ' I said.

'Geez. ' Bunny said. 'My dad's just a lousy old bank president. '

I felt it necessary to change the subject, however awkwardly, as we were heading here towards treacherous waters. 'If Henry's from St Louis, ' I said, 'how did he get to be so smart? '

This was an innocuous question but, unexpectedly, Bunny winced. 'Henry had a bad accident when he was a little boy, ' he said. 'Got hit by a car or something and nearly died. He was out of school for a couple years, had tutors and stuff, but for a long time he couldn't do much but lie in bed and read. I guess he was one of those kids who can read at college level when they're about two years old. '

'Hit by a car? '

'I think that's what it was. Can't think what else it could've been. He doesn't like to talk about it. ' He lowered his voice.

'Know the way he parts his hair, so it falls over the right eye?

That's because there's a scar there. Almost lost the eye, can't see out of it too good. And the stiff way he walks, sort of a limp. Not that it matters, he's strong as an ox. I don't know what he did, lift weights or what, but he certainly built himself back up again. A regular Teddy Roosevelt, overcoming obstacles and all. You got to admire him for it. ' He brushed his hair back again and motioned to the waiter for another drink. 'I mean, you take somebody like Francis. You ask me, he's as smart as Henry. Society boy, tons of money. He's had it too easy, though. He's lazy. Likes to play.

Won't do a thing after school but drink like a fish and go to parties.

Now Henry. ' He raised an eyebrow. 'Couldn't beat him away from Greek with a stick – Ah, thank you, there, sir, ' he said to the waiter, who was holding out another of the coral-colored drinks at arm's length. 'You want another? '

'I'm fine. '

'Go ahead, old man. On me. '

'Another martini, I guess, ' I said to the waiter, who had already turned away. He turned to glare at me.

Thanks, ' I said weakly, looking away from his lingering, hateful smile until I was sure he had gone.

'You know, there's nothing I hate like I hate an officious fag, ' said Bunny pleasantly. 'You ask me, I think they ought to round them all up and burn them at the stake. '

I've known men who run down homosexuality because they are uncomfortable with it, perhaps harbor inclinations in that area; and I've known men who run down homosexuality and mean it. At first I had placed Bunny in the first category. His glad-handing, varsity chumminess was totally alien and therefore suspect; then, too, he studied the classics, which are certainly harmless enough but which still provoke the raised eyebrow in some circles. ('You wrant to know what Classics are? ' said a drunk Dean of Admissions to me at a faculty party a couple of years ago. Till tell you what Classics are. Wars and homos. ' A sententious and vulgar statement, certainly, but like many such gnomic vulgarities, it also contains a tiny splinter of truth. )

The more I listened to Bunny, however, the more apparent it became that there was no affected laughter, no anxiety to please.

Instead, there was the blithe unselfconciousness of some crotchety old Veteran of Foreign Wars – married for years, father of multitudes – who finds the topic infinitely repugnant and amusing.

'But your friend Francis? ' I said.

I was being snide, I suppose, or maybe I just wanted to see how he would wriggle out of that one. Though Francis might or might not have been homosexual – and could just as easily have been a really dangerous type of ladies' man – he was certainly of that vulpine, well-dressed, unflappable sort who, to someone with Bunny's alleged nose for such things, would rouse a certain suspicion.

Bunny raised an eyebrow. 'That's nonsense, ' he said curtly.

'Who told you that? '

'Nobody. Just Judy Poovey, ' I said, when I saw he wasn't going to take nobody for an answer.

'Well, I can see why she'd say it but nowadays everybody's gay this and gay that. There's still such a thing as an old-fashioned mama's boy. All Francis needs is a girlfriend. ' He squinted at me through the tiny, crazed glasses. 'And what about you? ' he said, a trifle belligerently.

'What? '

'You a single man? Got some little cheerleader waiting back home for you at Hollywood High? '

'Well, no, ' I said. I didn't feel like explaining my own girlfriend problems, not to him. It was only quite recently that I had managed to extricate myself from a long, claustrophobic relationship with a girl in California whom we will call Kathy. I met her my first year of college, and was initially attracted to her because she seemed an intelligent, brooding malcontent like myself; but after about a month, during which time she'd firmly glued herself to me, I began to realize, with some little horror, that she was nothing more than a lowbrow, pop-psychology version of Sylvia Plath. It lasted forever, like some weepy and endless made-for-TV movie – all the clinging, all the complaints, all the parking-lot confessions of 'inadequacy' and 'poor self-image, ' all those banal sorrows. She was one of the main reasons I was in such an agony to leave home; she was also one of the reasons I was so wary of the bright, apparently innocuous flock of new girls I had met my first weeks of school.

The thought of her had turned me somber. Bunny leaned across the table.

'Is it true, ' he said, 'that the gals are prettier in California? '

I started laughing, so hard I thought my drink was going to blow out my nose.

'Bathing beauties? ' He winked. 'Beach Blanket Bingo? '

'You bet. '

He was pleased. Like some jolly old dog of an uncle, he leaned across the table even further and began to tell me about his own girlfriend, whose name was Marion. 'I know you've seen her, ' he said. 'Just a little thing. Blond, blue-eyed, about so high? '

Actually, this rang a bell. I had seen Bunny in the post office, in the first week of school, talking rather officiously to a girl of this description.

'Yep, ' said Bunny proudly, running his finger along the edge of his glass. 'She's my gal. Keeps me in line, I can tell you, ' This time, caught in mid-swallow, I laughed so hard I was close to choking.

'And she's an elementaryeducation major, too, don't you love it? ' he said. 'I mean, she's a real girl. ' He drew his hands apart, as if to indicate a sizable space between them. 'Long hair, got a little meat on her bones, isn't afraid to wear a dress. I like that. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't care much for the brainy ones.

Take Camilla. She's fun, and a good guy and all '

'Come on, ' I said, still laughing. 'She's really pretty. '

'That she is, that she is, ' he agreed, holding up a conciliatory palm. 'Lovely girl. I've always said so. Looks just like a statue of Diana in my father's club. All she lacks is a mother's firm hand, but still, for my money, she's what you call a bramble rose, as opposed to your hybrid tea. Doesn't take the pains she ought, you know. And runs around half the time in her brother's sloppy old clothes, which maybe some girls could get away with – well, frankly I don't think any girls can really get away with it, but she certainly can't. Looks too much like her brother. I mean to say, Charles is a handsome fellow and a sterling character all around, but I wouldn't want to marry him, would I? '

He was on a roll and was about to say something else; but then, quite suddenly, he stopped, his face souring as if something unpleasant had occurred to him. I was puzzled, yet a little amused; was he afraid he'd said too much, afraid of seeming foolish? I was trying to think of a quick change of subject, to let him off the hook, but then he shifted in his chair and squinted across the room.

'Look there, ' he said. 'Think that's us? It's about time. '

Despite the vast amount we ate that afternoon – soups, lobsters, pates, mousses, an array appalling in variety and amount – we drank even more, three bottles of Taittinger on top of the cocktails, and brandy on top of that, so that, gradually, our table became the sole hub of convergence in the room, around which objects spun and blurred at a dizzying velocity. I kept drinking from glasses which kept appearing as if by magic, Bunny proposing toasts to everything from Hampden College to Benjamin Jowett to Periclean Athens, and the toasts becoming purpler and purpler as time wore on until, by the time the coffee arrived, it was getting dark. Bunny was so drunk by then he asked the waiter to bring us two cigars, which he did, along with the check, face down, on a little tray.

The dim room was whirling at what was now an incredible rate of speed, and the cigar, so far from helping that, made me see as well a series of luminous spots that were dark around the edges, and reminded me unpleasantly of those horrible one-celled creatures that I used to have to blink at through a microscope till my head swam. I put it out in the ashtray, or what I thought was the ashtray but was in fact my dessert plate. Bunny took off his gold-rimmed spectacles, unhooking them carefully from behind each ear, and began to polish them with a napkin. Without them, his eyes were small and weak and amiable, watery with smoke, crinkled at the edges with laughter.

'Ah. That was some lunch, wasn't it, old man? ' he said around the cigar clamped in his teeth, holding the glasses to the light to inspect them for dust. He looked like a very young Teddy Roosevelt, sans moustache, about to lead the Rough Riders up San Juan Hill or go out and track a wildebeest or something.

'It was wonderful. Thanks. '

He blew out a ponderous cloud of blue, foul-smelling smoke.

'Great food, good company, lotsa drinks, couldn't ask for much more, could we? What's that song? '

'What song? '

*, ' want my dinner, ' sang Bunny, 'and conversation, and… something, dum-te-dum. '

'Don't know. '

'I don't know, either. Ethel Merman sings it. '

The light was growing dimmer and, as I struggled to focus on objects outside our immediate area, I saw the place was empty except for us. In a distant corner hovered a pale shape which I believed to be our waiter, a being obscure, faintly supernatural in aspect, yet without that preoccupied air which shadows are said to possess: we were the sole focus of its attention; I felt it concentrating towards us its rays of spectral hate.

'Uh, ' I said, shifting in my chair with a movement that almost made me lose my balance, 'maybe we should go. '

Bunny waved his hand magnanimously and turned over the check, rummaging in a pocket as he studied it. In a moment he looked up and smiled. 'I say, old horse. '

'Yes? '

'Hate to do this to you, but why don't you stand me lunch this time. '

I raised a drunken eyebrow and laughed. 'I don't have a cent on me. '

'Neither do I, ' he said. 'Funny thing. Seem to have left my wallet at home. '

'Oh, come on. You're joking. '

'Not at all, ' he said lightly. 'Haven't a dime. I'd turn out my pockets for you, but Twinkletoes'd see. '

I became aware of our malevolent waiter, lurking in the shadows, no doubt listening to this exchange with interest. 'How much is it? ' I said.

He ran an unsteady finger down the column of figures. 'Comes to two hundred and eighty-seven dollars and fifty-nine cents, ' he said. 'That's without tip. '

I was stunned at this amount, and baffled at his lack of concern.

'That's a lot. '

'All that booze, you know. '

'What are we going to do? '

'Can't you write a check or something? ' he said casually.

'I don't have any checks. '

Then put it on your card. '

'I don't have a card. '

'Oh, come on. '

'I don't, ' I said, growing more irritated by the second.

Bunny pushed back his chair and stood up and looked around the restaurant with a studied carelessness, like a detective cruising a hotel lobby, and for one wild moment I thought he was going to make a dash for it. Then he clapped me on the shoulder. 'Sit tight, old man, ' he whispered. 'I'm going to make a phone call. '

And then he was off, his fists in his pockets, the white of his socks flashing in the dim.

He was gone a long time. I was wondering if he was going to come back at all, if he hadn't just crawled out a window and left me to foot the bill, when finally a door shut somewhere and he sauntered back across the room.

'Worry not, worry not, ' he said as he slid into his chair. 'All's well. '

'What'd you do? '

'Called Henry. '

'He's coming? '

'In two shakes. '

'Is he mad? '

'Naw, ' said Bunny, brushing off this thought with a slight flick of the hand. 'Happy to do it. Between you and me, I think he's damned glad to get out of the house. '

After maybe ten extremely uncomfortable minutes, during which we pretended to sip at the dregs of our ice-cold coffee, Henry walked in, a book beneath his arm.

'See? ' whispered Bunny. 'Knew he'd come. Oh, hello, ' he said, as Henry approached the table. 'Boy am I glad to see '

'Where's the check, ' said Henry, in a toneless and deadly voice.

'Here you are, old pal, ' said Bunny, fumbling among the cups and glasses. 'Thanks a million. I really owe you '

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