Pretty Maids All in a Row 339 million years ago, out of another world, somewhere. Again, Tiger felt blue. He was on his way, on his way, nothing could stop the unidirectional slide down that way. Oblivion. Nothingness. He thought of the game. It was set for next week. He hoped he was right and that everything w'ould go alright. Tomorrow, unless unforeseen developments prevented it, there would be practice. Tiger was in somewhat of a quandary about this, and made a mental note to talk it over with Ponce tomorrow morning, first thing. The quandary was this: Should he put Jim Green back in and scrap the new plays they had unfurled? How would Joe Moran take this? Wouldn’t it be best to utilize him—for a quarter say—at the minimum? Tiger thought about it. He would have to talk very seriously with Ponce about it. No doubt of it. That poor kid certainly was low, he was the most sensitive kid he’d ever met, which was one of the reasons he liked him so much, on top of the talent he had, of course. It hurt him though to see him suffer so much. He was young, he didn’t yet understand fully, did he, the hammer-blow cruelty of life, from all quarters, and any, anytime, the most unexpected of times. Tiger sighed. The boy was like a son to him. Also, he would talk to Jim tomorrow. Though no doubt things would be pretty tight tomorrow. What a mess. Anne Williams might have to be cut by half an hour, and she would love that. He pictured that. And Sally Swink. What would she think? He didn’t look forward to it. Could he make it less? He would do his best. Now Tiger’s mind crowded with a whole host of things. How many of those parents would really keep their kids away from school? He wondered. He turned into Chestnut Avenue. He thought of the Kennedys. There she was. He thought of Vietnam. He pulled up. Grinning, he opened the door.
“Hello Tiger honey—” She said, immediately cuddling up to him, as he drove off, smoothly.
“How’s everything?” He asked, warmly, aware only of her sweet form, near him. He glanced at the dark-haired maid.
“I almost didn’t make it,” she said. She looked great.
“I can imagine,” he said.
“There’s school tomorrow, isn’t there, Tiger?”
“There is.”
“That’s what I told them.”
340 Pretty Maids A11 in a Row “Didn’t they think there was?”
“They said there couldn’t be—”
“We’ll fool them.”
Tiger suddenly thought of the back yard of his house when he was a kid. The pear tree in it. The grass. The way he used to cut the grass. His father was dead now. So was his mother. He only had a few cousins around somewhere —and a brother. He was a couple of years older, he was in California, he taught at the University there, Berkeley. Looby Loo wanted to take a trip out there this summer. They were working on it. The back yard. He saw himself, that kid, running around that back yard. He was there, in it. He was climbing the pear tree. He saw his father working in the garden, which took up about half the yard. He was always working on it, they had vegetables all summer from it. He even grew watermelons, though it wasn’t hot enough to bring them to maturity, of course. How far was he up that pear tree? His father turned, and saw him. He grinned at him. Tiger grinned. He was a little scared, up that tree. His father would help him down. Often, he dreamed of him. He had always been close to him. His death, while he was in Korea, had been a cruncher for him. And when he got back—his mother. That was another one. He saw his father, tying up the tomato plants. His brother was running out of the house—he was going out to the field—to play baseball—“Bob—” He called out to him. “Hey Bob—” He wanted to play with him—
“Where are we going, Tiger honey?” The little darling asked softly. She smelled sweet. So sweet. What a sweet— “Oh—” Tiger reflected, “Let’s see—”
That delighted her, “A surprise? Oh Gee!"
Tiger chuckled, “Let’s just see.” He hadn’t thought of it. But now an inspiration hit him. The fields—behind the high school! Great. Nice and quiet, private, he had never thought of it. Really great. The beauty was, it took no time at all to get there. That was the beauty of it. Why had he never thought of it? He would have headed automatically for the hills, and Rochelle’s favorite nook, with its spectacular view. Of course it was rare that he saw a maid after school hours, very rare, outside of Rochelle, that is. That was it. Probably. She insisted on it—
“Where did you tell them you were going?” Tiger asked her, suddenly. It had come to him.
She gave that sweet little laugh she had, and said, “Majorette Meeting.”
“With Marjorie?”
“That’s right.”
She was dreamy.
Tiger grinned, what a kid. He was thinking of her now in her majorette outfit. He had first taken notice of her out there. Who cut a cuter figure than she did, in that outfit? That was when, alright. Maybe Marjorie did, it could be—but in a different way. They all had their ways—she had this sweet, cute appealing way. It was hard to say. She was a fine majorette. A twirler.