“Why don’t you take Judd up to your room? We’ll call when we’re ready,” Mrs. Straus suggested to Artie, who motioned – “C’mon!” – and took the stairs two at a time.
The room was as a collegian’s room was supposed to look, with pennants and sports stuff on the walls – tennis rackets and even crossed fencing foils. Immediately, Artie lighted a cigarette, and offered his Caporals to Judd. “Smoke?” Judd accepted one, remarking that his own preference was for the Turkish brands.
It was too bad he was going to register at the U. of C., Artie told him at once. That was no good because you had to live at home and you couldn’t fool around too much – they had their eye on you. He himself was going to switch to Michigan, to Ann Arbour, in the fall. Another thing, the girls of the U. of C. wouldn’t put out. “You interested in girls?” And in the same moment, Artie opened a heavy atlas that was on his desk. “I keep them in here so the spies won’t get wise.” And he handed Judd a packet of postcards.
They were French cards. Judd had never seen any before, but he made it his rule always to be inwardly prepared for anything. He didn’t flicker. The cards were certainly unaesthetic, particularly the females – the way their half-removed clothing dangled and dripped. Handing back the postcards, he said, “Not bad,” and Artie said he could get Judd into Alpha Beta, only they were a bunch of sissies, the whole gang – he’d bet a ten-spot half of them were still cherry. “You cherry?”
Judd grinned ambiguously. He was saved from the need to answer further by Mrs. Straus calling from downstairs, “Boys, we’re beginning.”
“Hey, I got an idea,” Artie said. “You want to have some fun with these hens? Let’s have some signals.”
That was the first spark between them; the idea of defrauding hese clucking women was pleasant to Judd. Artie proposed finger signals, but Judd feared even those dumb females might catch on. His own idea was word signals. Let the first letter of the first word you spoke represent the suit, say, for clubs, any word beginning with a C. Then the number of words in the remark would be the number of cards of that suit. His mind leaped ahead, even to word signals for the high cards, but Artie said he had a better system. He would tap Judd’s toe under the table – that’s what long legs were good for. Once for spades, twice for hearts, and so on. Then you tap the number held in each suit.
“What if they catch you?”
“They never catch me.” Artie laughed.
As the foot reached, pressing on his toes, Judd felt an odd combination of mischievousness and tense excitement. He lost count of the taps. He messed up the bidding. But Artie played with bravado and brilliance, and fished them out of the mess. Afterward they got a little better at it. Then they got so good, the women ooed and aahed, and Judd found himself giggling with the secret fun. Then Artie’s mother made a remark about how nervous he was, his legs rattling all the time, and Judd got scared and drew back his feet, holding them under the chair. He gave Artie a meaningful look.
They came out winners, nearly five dollars apiece, and during the coffee and French pastries, Artie took him upstairs again and produced a hidden flask of gin. Then Artie wanted to try Judd’s aunt’s electric to see if it could get up any more speed than his own aunt’s Edison.
In the driveway, the two electric cars were lined up. Aunt Bertha’s still had the key in it. And Artie suddenly had a thought. He tried the key in the second car. It fitted. All those Edisons must have the same key!
And so it started. Artie came over for bridge one evening, Judd and Artie trimming Aunt Bertha and Mother Dear, using Judd’s word system this time. Then Artie borrowed Aunt Bertha’s electric, and, while he was out, had a duplicate key made. Artie was car crazy, but since his accident, his family very strictly wouldn’t let him drive.
One afternoon he said, “Hey, how about some fun?” And he and Judd walked into a garage on Harper and tried the key in an Edison, driving the buggy right out. The garageman’s face fell open half a yard as they passed him – what a riot! But after a few blocks he was chasing them in his repair truck. You couldn’t get any speed on an electric, Artie cursed, so he slewed it against the curb and they both leaped out, lamming down an alley and dodging across a vacant lot, Artie pulling Judd quickly behind a shed. Artie held up the key he had saved, and they laughed.
It was there in the sun, laughing, pushed up close together against the wall, that Judd first saw Artie differently. His face was no longer pasty but alive, his eyes shone, and his body had suddenly a lanky grace. And that night in his imagining, when Judd waited for the king to come into his fantasy, it was Artie.
Every afternoon they were together. They swiped another electric and whizzed down Cottage Grove. Then, while they were in an ice-cream parlour, a cop looked in and asked if anybody belonged to that electric. Judd almost piped up, but Artie kicked his foot. They kept their faces in their sodas until the cop departed.
Electrics were too risky, too slow, Judd said. Anyway for graduation he would have his own car, a red Stutz Bearcat. Artie was almost more eager than Judd for that day.
There it was, sitting in the driveway when he came home from Twain’s silly, juvenile graduation exercises. Red as a fire engine, and with a rumble. Artie must have been waiting around the corner, for he appeared at once, tested the horn, sprang open the rumble. “Just right for picking up gash!” he said. “Ideal for two couples.”
Immediately after dinner, Artie was back at Judd’s house. It was a moonless night. Max haw-hawed, and even Mother Dear joked about the two young men going out to do the town. Judd could imagine their remarks after he had left. “It’s a good thing for him to have some fun; he’s much too serious.” Or: “Let him sow a wild oat or two.”
The first thing Artie did was to stop at a drugstore on Stony Island where he said he could get the real stuff. “Your share is three bucks,” he told Judd when he came out with the pint. Judd knew that Max never paid more than three dollars a pint, so this was the entire price he was paying; but he gave Artie the money, telling himself this way he would have something on Artie, even while Artie thought he was being fooled.
Then Artie wanted to take the wheel, but Judd decided to establish firmly from the first that it was his car, and he would be the driver. Artie shrugged.
In the park they had a few swigs, then Judd said how about a fond farewell to the institution? They drove down to Twain, gazing upon the brick castle, dark and solid as a prison. “Why is it the tradition that one is supposed to look back upon one’s Alma Mater with affection?” said Judd. “All I experience is relief at no longer having to have daily contact with those imbeciles.”
Artie climbed out of the car. A pile of bricks was lying there, where a wall was being repaired. He picked up a few, handing one to Judd. There was a corner window, where old Mr. Forman always stood.
“Here’s to Old Foreskin!” Artie saluted. They heaved, and glass rained down. Climbing into the car, they roared off. Judd was actually laughing out loud. “Too bad he wasn’t standing behind the window as usual!” He nearly doubled over the wheel, finding the image so funny.
Artie still had a brick in his hand. Judd drove to Lake Park. It was a crummy street, with few lights. A good street for gash, Artie remarked, though mostly professionals, and he didn’t want to get himself another dose just yet. Then Artie spied a perfect store window and heaved his brick; the Stutz had wonderful pickup, roaring away from the clattering, collapsing glass.
They circled, stopped a block off, and sauntered over. Two men were struggling to block up the window – it was a shoe-repair shop – and a dozen rubbernecks had already assembled.