“Do you want another beer?”
“Certainly. It is always a pleasure to live off the public dole.”
Shindler signaled the waitress and ordered two more beers.
“Can you get through?”
“Not in every case.”
“Would you like to take a shot at a very unusual case?”
Hollander smiled and his eyes twinkled.
“Roy, you know you have me hooked. Tell me what the facts are.”
“Art, this is a case I have been working on for some time. Have you ever heard of the Murray-Walters murders?”
Bobby Coolidge flexed his fingers. He had developed a cramp in his writing hand and, in the few seconds in which his attention had wandered from Professor Schneider’s lecture, he had missed most of what the professor had said about the Budget and Accounting Act of 1950. Not that he cared about the Act personally, but he had made a promise to himself that he would really try this first semester to see if he could make the grade.
When he first decided to go to college, it had been a major decision. No one else in his family had ever done it. College people had always been thought of as an alien species as different from Coolidges as Martians from Earthmen. Now he was one of the Martians and it wasn’t easy.
Bobby was renting a one-bedroom apartment in a crummy area of town. He had saved enough to make it through the first academic year without working. But that meant no frills. His entertainment came from a second-hand portable TV. His meals consisted of several varieties of spaghetti sauce poured over one variety of spaghetti.
And the work was hard. High school had never been this tough. What made it worse was that the other students seemed to understand so much more than he. There had been times when he wanted to quit. Once, he stayed away from school for a week. He was afraid of failure. Afraid that he was out of his depth. Then he had paid another visit to Billy and he had returned to the classroom. On the drive back, he decided that he did have a choice about how his life would end and it was not going to wind up like Billy’s had.
The professor announced the end of the period and Bobby still was missing the notes on the purpose of the Budget Act. The girl in the seat next to him was still writing. She was very attractive. Blond, blue-eyed. A cheerleader type, he had decided, during the first few weeks of class. Obviously well off from the cut and variety of her clothes.
Today, she was dressed in a plaid kilt and a red turtleneck sweater. When she leaned over to write, her long blond hair cascaded over her sloping shoulders so that she had to brush it off her writing tablet.
“Excuse me,” he said. She looked up and smiled. “I missed the last few minutes of the lecture. I wonder if I could copy your notes.”
“Sure,” she said. “Just let me finish them for you.”
“I appreciate it. My hand cramped. I just can’t write as fast as Schneider talks.”
The girl laughed. She had a pleasant laugh that made him think about church bells on clear winter Sundays.
“It isn’t just you. I can never keep up with him.”
Bobby laughed.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one. Where do you think he learned to talk like that? Maybe his father made phonograph records.”
She smiled again and handed him her notes. Not bad, he thought. A laugh and a smile. I’m getting to be a regular comedian.
“What’s this word here?” he asked, pointing to a scrawl stuffed between two other illegible words.
“‘Budget.’”
“Right. My name is Bobby Coolidge. I’ve been sitting across from you all these weeks and I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself.”
“Consider yourself introduced. My name is Sarah Rhodes. Now we’re even.”
The room was emptying, but Sarah did not seem impatient to leave. Bobby wondered if she would have lunch with him if he asked her. He had not had a real date since he had returned from the army. There had been a few pickups in bars, right after he was discharged, but nothing since his return to Portsmouth. It was partly a lack of money and partly a lack of desire. He was having a difficult time adjusting to civilian life. His values were in a state of flux. His education seemed important, but he had not arrived at a concrete reason why. Emotional attachments seemed frivolous and unsettling. He had decided that women would be a distraction he could not afford, so he had avoided them. Still, lunch would not hurt-if she would go with him.
“Thanks for the loan,” he said, handing her the spiral notebook. He walked with her toward the classroom door. The professor was talking to a skinny boy with tortoiseshell glasses. Everyone else had left.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
He had said it too fast. Blurted it out. Not cool, he thought, uneasily.
“Why?” she asked, hesitantly.
“I thought, if you were, I’d spring you to lunch. I mean, it’s a fair trade. Food for thought.”
She caught the pun and laughed. He was proud of himself for thinking it up. It was almost intellectual.
“Sure. But we’ll go Dutch. My notes aren’t worth that much.”
The school cafeteria was jammed and they settled for a small table in a corner. Bobby emptied his tray and carried his and hers to an aluminum rack that stood against a wall covered with posters and advertisements about campus affairs. When he returned, Sarah finished taking his sandwich out of its cellophane wrapper and handed it to him.
“Thanks. This place is mobbed. It reminds me of mess hall at boot camp.”
Sarah looked interested.
“You were in the army?”
“Just got out,” he answered between bites.
“Were you…?”
“In Nam?” he finished for her. “Yes.”
“You didn’t like it there, did you?” she asked, after looking at the expression on his face.
“It wasn’t a pleasant experience. I went. I came back. There’s not much in between that I like to talk about.”
“Sorry,” she said and he realized that he had been too sharp in his reply.
“You shouldn’t be. I’m the one who should apologize. You had no way of knowing.”
“I only asked because it’s in the news so much and you’re the first person I ever met who has been there.”
“Where have you been? I mean, where are you from?” he asked, changing the subject, artfully, he hoped.
“Toronto.”
“You’re not American?”
“No,” she laughed. “And don’t look so shocked. We Canadians don’t have horns.”
He blushed.
“I didn’t mean…”
“That’s okay. Now we’re even.”
They smiled at each other and Bobby put down his sandwich and offered his hand. She took it and they shook. He held it a second longer than was necessary, but she did not seem to mind. When he had brought up their trays, there had been a notice that the Student Union was showing Gone with the Wind the next evening. One dollar per student. Bobby mentally checked his savings. He could swing two dollars and a couple of bucks for beer.
“Do you like old movies?” he asked.
“Yes. What made you ask?” she said. Her eyes flirted with him, playfully teasing him.
“I noticed…They’re showing Gone with the Wind tomorrow. I’ve never seen it, but I hear it’s good. If you wanted to go…?”
“I have seen it.”
“Oh.”
“But I’d love to go again.”
He brightened up and she smiled again. They had both been smiling a lot, he thought. He glanced at the cafeteria clock and gathered his books.
“I have to run. I have math in five minutes and I can’t afford to miss a class. Tell me where you live and I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”