“‘What do we do?’
“‘We must do as other men do. Don’t be embarrassed.’
“‘No.’
“‘Don’t be self-conscious. Don’t get cold feet.’
“‘No.’
“‘We must do as other men do.’
“‘But what? What is it?’
“‘Dedman, I’m going to ask you to call me “Ace.” It’s what the roughnecks call each other. I hear it everywhere. I heard it on the campus that time I went with you to the library. “Ace,” call me “Ace.” It’s manly. It has a fine ring. If you see me in the hallway, say “How’s it going, Ace?” When you pick me up to eat, say “Let’s chow down, Ace.” Or “Chow time, Ace.” And I’ll call you “Chief.” Or “Flash.” Whichever you prefer. We’ll work it out. I’ll say, “Way to go, Flash.” “Yo, Chief,” I’ll say. It’ll make a difference. You’ll see.’
“‘It will make a difference?’
“‘Absolutely. It will. Look, do me a favor. Give it a chance. When the waiter brings the check, say, “Here comes the man with the bad news, Ace.” ’
“‘Here comes the man with the bad news, Ace,’ Dedman said when the waiter came.
“‘Read it and weep, Flash,’ I told him.
“Dedman, who had no brains about money, as I say, paid the check without adding it up and overtipped the waiter a dollar. ‘Way to go, big fella,’ I said.
“‘Happy birthday, Ace.’
“‘Thanks, Chief,’ I winked at him. ‘Flash, how are they hanging?’
“‘Better, Ace. Really better.’
“And Dedman was into his fall now, leaning exultant into his descent like a breaster of tape. Lord, we had fun! Such times! The new-goosed Damon and piss-vinegar Pythias. Hurrah, I say! Like student princes we were, like heirs and heroes, raucous as drunks past curfew on cobble. Good times and high, Ace. And Dedman as good a man as myself. Because I had led him into the games now. Shilled and hustled him down this slow-boat-to-China garden path. Led him into the games now of Feldman’s Olympic friendship. And Dedman good at them, you understand, skilled as an actor, no feel only for what was what. Led him into the games now. The latest thing in friendship. Damon down and Pythias perished. Long live Quirk and Flagg! Gusto and zeal and zest and joy like new soaps for the shower!
“Listen, let me make something clear — it was a classic friendship out of operetta, musical comedy, Dennis Morgan movies. I honed this rivalry with him. We played cliches on each other. Jesus, the jokes!
“Dedman bought a car. We went to a ballgame. He had a beer in the third inning. In the parking lot as he was taking out his keys, I clipped him hard as I could on his jaw and knocked him out. ‘Sorry, Flash,’ I said over his unconscious body, ‘that hurt me more than it did you, but it would be suicide to let you get behind the wheel in your condition.’
“We pretended we were athletes in training. At night we’d each try to sneak past the other’s apartment to go out and meet this blond divorcée waitress we made up, who worked in this all-night diner we made believe was on the corner. We’d walk tiptoe and carried our shoes in our hands, wearing a bathrobe and pretending we were dressed underneath it. I’d spot him sneaking out, and Dedman would feign this angelic look and begin whistling. (He couldn’t really whistle, but he’d pretend to.) ‘Where you going, Chief?’
“‘Who? Me, Ace?’
“‘Yeah, big guy, you.’
“‘Oh, nowhere, Ace. I thought I heard a suspicious noise in the hall, and I came out to check it.’
“‘A suspicious noise. You mean like a burglar would make?’
“‘That’s right. Like a burglar.’
“‘Then why were you whistling?’
“‘I was pretending to whistle, Ace.’
“‘You were off to see Trixie O’Toole, weren’t you? Weren’t you?’
“‘Who, Ace?’
“‘You know who. A certain cute little blond hash-slinger with big blue eyes over at Joe’s all-nighter.’
“‘Come on, Ace. But that reminds me, now that you mention it, what are you doing out here in the hall this time of night?’
“‘Who, me? Why, uh — that is, er — well, uh — gulp — er — who, me?’
“Dedman would double up, he’d be laughing so hard. I’d watch him and smile. ‘This is the life, ain’t it, Skippy?’ I’d say.
“‘It is, Ace. It really is.’
“It really was.
“We took these twin sisters to night clubs. We ordered one glass of champagne apiece and then went to another night club, where we ordered another glass of champagne apiece, and then on to another and another, having one glass of champagne in each place, and one dance, building the evening like a montage in films. We danced until dawn and rode home in a milk wagon.
“Once when I wasn’t with him, Dedman got picked up for speeding. He gave my name to the police, and they called up and asked if I wanted to bail him out. I said, ‘Never heard of the dirty rat.’ Do you know, before I hung up, the desk sergeant told him what I’d said and I could hear Dedman laughing?”
“All right, Feldman, get to it,” the warden said.
“Blasts. Balls and binges: We would—”
“Get to it, I said.”
“We courted the same girl,” Feldman said softly. “Marge. Is this it? What you want me to say?”
“Marge,” the warden said. “Yes. Marge.”
“We saw the same girl. We took out the same girl. Only, I didn’t care for her as much as Dedman did.”
“You hated her.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you made believe you loved her.”
“No. I never told her that.”
“Not her. Dedman.”
“Yes.”
“Go on,” the warden said.
“I’d met Lilly by now in New York. We were engaged to be married. Dedman didn’t know — I hadn’t told him. But there was time because we couldn’t be married until Dedman was married.”
“What?”
“Sure,” Feldman said. “Because that’s part of the game, marrying off your friends. You know, the married man who can’t rest until his buddy is married too, who hates the idea of there being bachelors left. So I picked out Marge for him. Scum. She was scum. A bitch. And divorced. A Trixie O’Toole, she was. She even had a kid. Dedman didn’t know. Christ, she was grubby. You could smell her soul on her breath. Not Dedman.
“So I built each of them up to the other. It was easy with Dedman — romance was right up that orphan’s alley — but harder with her, with Marge. I hinted of money. (I think she got the idea that I was queer on him and that I would make him rich if he married.) I told her how to speak to him. I gave her the titles of books and taught her the names of operas and the themes from symphonies. What the hell, Dedman, that dropout, didn’t know much more himself. And I gave her things to say that would make him jealous and bring him around.