“Mommy’s angry,” David said. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Women get angry.”
“She said you were drunk.”
“I am.”
“What’s drunk?”
“What’s sober?” Larry asked the wall. “Can’t you get back to sleep now?”
“Sure. I di’n wet the bed.”
“That’s a good boy.”
“I’m never going to wet the bed again. Then I can go to school with Chris.”
“Sure.”
“Can’t I?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to be like Chris when I’m bigger.”
“That’s good,” Larry said. “Lie down, son. I’ll cover you.”
“And when I’m really big, I’ll be a daddy like you. You’re a good daddy. You’re the nicest daddy in New York.”
“Thank you, son,” Larry said. He kissed David on the cheek.
“Me,” David said. “I want to kiss you.”
He kissed Larry, and Larry suddenly clasped his son to him, holding him fiercely close.
“Good night, son,” he said. “Good night.”
“Good night, Dad.”
He flicked out the light and went out of the bedroom and past the bathroom and through the kitchen where Eve stood at the stove with the coffeepot and through the entrance hallway and then out the front door and onto the stoop. He walked down the front steps and down the path and he turned left at the sidewalk and then simply walked up the block, feeling the sudden cold, realizing all at once that he was in his stocking feet, not giving a damn, walking faster and faster and thinking only, I’ve got to get away, and not knowing from what he had to get away.
The development was closed for the night, the sidewalks pulled in, the eyes of the houses shut, the houses standing uniform and silent behind their lawn moats, the telephone poles stiff and unbending, the telephone wires zooming off into the distance, the sky a solid black slammed with stars and a storybook moon.
He walked alone on the silent streets, walked with a rushing, headlong pace, breathing hard, away, away, not thinking of where he was going and then suddenly knowing where he was going and stopping dead in his tracks. He was heading for Maggie’s house.
His arms fell to his sides. His head drooped, and he stood in the center of the sidewalk, limp within his body frame, shaking his head slowly and meaninglessly, thinking. What’s happening to me? What’s happening to my life?
He felt an enormous sadness. He knew he would not cry, but there were tears behind his eyes, silent tears that wept without moisture. The sadness was heavy, a burden that pressed on his shoulders and head, filling his chest and his eyes and his hands. He stood alone, unmoving, his stockinged feet against the pavement in the brilliant moonlight. There was no wind. The world was silent. He was alone in a silent world, alone and sad, and unable to think, able only to feel this enormous sadness.
The car pulled up alongside him. The front door opened.
“Get in,” a voice said.
He stood silent for another moment. With great effort, he turned and walked to the car. He climbed onto the front seat alongside the driver.
“Close the door,” the voice said.
He closed the door.
“Not that I much give a damn,” the voice said, “but are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Larry answered.
The car was in motion now. The houses outside fell by in regular monotony.
“You’re not very smart,” the voice said. “Even a butcher knows that.”
“I’m smart as hell.”
“Why’d you walk out on your own party?”
“I wanted to. Who the hell are you?”
“Felix Anders.”
“Go to hell, Felix. Who asked you to come after me?”
“Eve did.”
“Hero. Big hero butcher who reads the Daily News.”
“We can’t all be smart architects who read the Times.” Felix paused. “We’re going to a little ride. To clear your head.”
“My head’s clear.”
“Your head’s all ass backwards.”
“My, my, the butcher curses. The butler-butcher curses. The neat superior—”
“I can’t stand amateurs,” Felix said. “If you’re going to play the game, play it right.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Walking out of your own party is a stupid kid stunt.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What is she?” Felix asked. “A blonde or a brunette?”
“What is who?” Larry asked shrewdly.
“It’s too late to get smart,” Felix said. “You showed all the signs tonight. Don’t get smart when I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Eve’s a shrewd cookie. You keep on—”
“I don’t like that,” Larry said. “Eve’s my wife—”
“And you love her,” Felix said dryly. “I know.”
“Damn right, I love her.”
“Love’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Love’s got everything to do with everything,” Larry said. “That’s how much you know, butcher.”
“I don’t know anything at all,” Felix said slyly. “I’m just a butcher. But if you’re going to play the game, play it right.”
“What game were you playing in the corner with Phyllis Porter? Footsie?”
“Someday I’ll explain life to you.”
“A game! What the hell do you know?”
“Nothing. I’m a butcher.”
“Stop telling everybody you’re a butcher. They’ll begin believing you.”
“Where were you headed just now?”
“No place.”
“I hope you’re not playing close to home,” Felix said. Larry did not answer. “There’s an old proverb: never spit where you eat. You might remember it.”
“Felix Anders, proverb maker,” Larry said.
“You ready to go back?”
“I was ready long before the lecture started.”
“In one ear and out the other,” Felix said. “I’ll talk to you sometime. When you’re sober. Let me handle this when we get back to the house.”
“What’s there to handle?”
“You don’t know how close to the brink you are,” Felix said. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering to help you.”
“Who needs your help? I don’t even think I like you.”
“I don’t like you, either. You think you’re superior because you’re an architect. I’m a butcher, and I know more about life than you’ll ever know.”
“Sure.”
“Sure. Every butcher does. Life is just a big piece of meat. There’s your house. Let me handle this.” He pulled the car to the curb. “Sit where you are,” he said. “I’ll come around and help you out of the car.”
“I can walk.”
“I know you can. Sit where you are.” He walked around to Larry’s side and opened the door. “Put your arm around my shoulders. Let me do all the talking. Just follow my lead.”
He seized Larry’s arm and swung it over his shoulder. Together, they swayed up the front walk. Eve was waiting at the door.
“Is he all right?” she asked.
“Just too much to drink,” Felix said. “He felt sick, had to get some air. I think we’re going to need the bathroom.”
Eve looked at her husband with mingled sympathy and disgust. Larry smiled blandly. He and Felix went into the house and past the coffee drinkers at the kitchen table. Eve followed them to the bathroom. As Felix closed the door, she said, “I’ll have coffee waiting for him.”
With the door locked, Felix said, “Make noises. I’ll get the water going.”
“This is a little foolish, isn’t it?” Larry asked.
“Protection. You’re in trouble, mister. I suggest you lay your wife the moment everyone leaves.”