He wore khaki trousers and a sports shirt. The door to the phone booth was open, and the boy was leaning into the opening.
The boy said, “Margaret, all I want...”
Larry quickened his step.
Maggie was sitting in the booth motionless. Her purse was in her lap, and her hands were clasped over the purse. She was looking at the floor of the booth, not raising her eyes to meet the gaze of the muscular young man who stood hulking over her. Larry walked directly to the booth.
“Did you want something, Bud?” he asked.
The boy did not turn. Without looking at Larry, he said, “Shove off.”
He was as tall as Larry, heavier, with bright red hair, huge arms, and a barrel chest. He stood with his broad back to Larry, his arms widespread, a palm against each side of the booth as he leaned into the opening. Completely ignoring Larry, he said, “All I want you to tell me is—”
“The lady’s with me,” Larry said. “Get away from her.”
The boy turned. His eyes flicked Larry in a fast appraisal. “You can go to hell,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a long time to—” and Larry hit him.
He hit him quite suddenly, almost before he knew what he was doing. He brought up his left fist and threw it forward in a short sharp furious jab that caught the boy on the point of his chin and sent him staggering from the booth to collide with the wall.
The boy pushed himself from the wall, cocked his fists, took a step forward, and said, “Okay, mister. You asked for it.” And then he lunged at Larry.
He first blow caught Larry on the side of his face, and he felt shocking pain as he backed away. The second punch hit him in the gut, as painful as the first, but with a dangerous accompanying effect. The second punch brought instant rage to Larry’s throat and eyes. In the space of three seconds, all of his war training came back to him. He planted his feet solidly, balanced himself, and curled his fists into hard, tight, destructive weapons. He knew that if this boy threw another punch at him, he would kill him. He would strike at his Adam’s apple and kill him. His fists balled, he waited for the boy’s attack.
The boy hesitated in mid-stride.
“Come on,” Larry said. There was barely controlled fury in his voice. His body strained forward as he waited. His eyes were unblinking, cold with menace. Perhaps the boy saw what was in Larry’s eyes. The attack did not come. Instead, the boy lowered his hands.
“Come on!” Larry said.
The boy did not move. Fear mingled with shame on his face, and then his shoulders seemed to collapse in total defeat. “All right!” he said, seemingly on the verge of tears, but he did not move. “All right, it’s over. All right, all right, it’s over,” and still he did not move.
Larry waited. The boy’s embarrassment and defeat made him curiously sad. There seemed to be countless things the boy wanted to say, but he only kept repeating senselessly, “All right, it’s over; all right, it’s over,” and then he turned abruptly and ran for the door at the far end of the room. The door slammed shut behind him. The room was still. Larry turned to the booth where Maggie sat motionless.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Maggie nodded, but she did not look at him. Outside, an automobile started. Tires grasped shriekingly at gravel.
“Come,” he said gently. He took her hand and led her out of the booth. The yellow Buick was gone when they got outside.
In the car, he asked, “What happened?”
She was sitting silently close to him while he drove, her hands clasped over her purse. “He came in the side door after I was talking a while,” she said. “He waited until I was finished, and then he wouldn’t let me out of the booth. Did he hurt you?”
“No. What did he want?”
“If you’re bruised, you’ll have to explain it to—”
“What did he want?”
“The same thing they all want,” Maggie said softly.
“All? How often does this kind of thing happen?”
“Often enough. Forget it, Larry, please. You were very sweet and foolish, and I appreciate it. But please forget it. I’m used to it.”
“Used to what?” He felt extremely naïve all at once, and yet the idea of other men approaching her had never occurred to him. “Men annoying you?”
“Yes. Men annoying me.”
“But why should—”
“Why do you think?” she asked. “Larry, can we please drop this? I’m sorry, but it’s very upsetting. Every time it happens, I get—”
“You sound as if you’re approached ten times a day!”
“I am.”
“By whom? Which men?”
“Any men. All men. Men, Larry. Men!” She paused and then said, “Oh, Larry, forget it, please. What difference does it make? I’m what I am. Sometimes I wish I were ugly. Sometimes I hate my face and my smile and my hips and my breasts, these damn—” She shook her head. “Forget it. I’m used to it by now. Men are men, and they want what they want.”
“Does that include me?” he asked.
“I love you,” she said simply.
“You didn’t always.”
“No. And you also saw what you wanted and asked for it, didn’t you?”
“And got it,” Larry said.
“The rest don’t.”
“How do I know that?”
“Oh, please don’t sound like a suspicious husband. You’re the only one, believe me. Everyone else looks and tries to touch, but you’re the only one who—”
“How’d that boy know your name?” Larry asked abruptly.
“He didn’t.”
“He did. He called you ‘Margaret.’ I heard him.”
“He probably heard me say ‘This is Margaret’ when I started speaking to Don.”
“You said he came in after you were talking a while. How could he have heard the beginning of the conversation?”
“No, he came in while I was dialing.”
“You know him, don’t you?” Larry said.
“No.”
“Who is he?”
“I never saw him before in my life.”
“Who is he, Maggie?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know. Why are you lying to me?”
“Stop it, Larry. Please.”
“I want to know.”
“What gives you the right to know?”
“I thought you loved me.”
“I do,” she said.
“Then that’s my right.”
“And when you know? What then? Goodbye, Maggie?”
“Why? Is the truth so terrible?”
“The truth is always terrible. You’re upset because men make passes at me. What happens when you find out—”
“... that I’m not the only one? That the boy I hit has been—”
“He hasn’t!”
“Then what is it? What are you hiding?”
She moved away from him to the opposite side of the car. Her lashes fluttered, and she seemed nervous and confused all at once, and he wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her. She lighted a cigarette inexpertly, blew out a puff of smoke, and then pulled her legs up under her on the seat, her skirt pulling back slightly over a nylon-sleek knee. Desire came full upon him in that moment. In that moment he did not want to hear her, he only wanted to hold her. And seeing his eyes, she said, “Go ahead, touch me. See if I’m real.”
“Maggie...”
“If it annoys you, it annoys me more. I don’t like it, not one damn bit. But don’t blame other men for making the same assumption you made, and still make. And don’t blame me.”
“Tell me about the boy,” he said.
“Sure.” She sighed heavily. “In July...”
She was starting a story. She had said “In July” like “Once upon a time,” and he knew from the first two words that the story would be extremely painful to her. He kept his hands tight on the wheel and his eyes riveted to the road ahead.