“One of the neighbors mentioned it. Eve would have come by, too,” he said, glancing at Mrs. Wagner, “but she had shopping to do.”
“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Cole?” Margaret’s mother asked.
“If it’s not any trouble.”
“None at all. I have some on the stove.” She smiled briefly and left the room. The moment she was gone, Maggie held out her arms and he rushed to her.
“Darling, darling,” he said. “I was frantic. I called and called...”
“I know. All those wrong numbers. I died each time. They wouldn’t let me out of bed. Larry, Larry, how I’ve missed you.” He reached for her mouth, and she turned her head away. “Don’t kiss me. You’ll catch it.”
“I don’t care.”
He kissed her, and she clung to him and said, “Did it go all right? That day with Mary?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. Oh, Larry, I didn’t know how much your voice meant to me. I didn’t realize how much I needed it every day. Let me look at you.” She studied him and said, smiling, “You look handsome.”
“I need a shave.”
“I don’t care. Your face is so rough, so strong. Put your face against mine.”
He held her close and asked, “When can you get up?”
“I have to stay in bed at least another two days.”
“Can I see you Thursday night?”
“Yes. Larry, how will I live until then?”
“I know, I know,” he said, and his hands dug into her shoulders.
“Will you come to see me again?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Of course not. This was a silly chance you took. But I’m so glad you came. When I heard your voice—”
“Shhh,” he said.
“She’s coming. Tell me. Quick.”
“I love you.” He kissed her unpainted mouth briefly and then moved away from the bed. Mrs. Wagner came into the room with a tray.
“I didn’t know what you took,” she said, “so I brought all the fixings.” Casually, she said to Maggie, “What does he take, Margaret?”
“He... I don’t know,” Maggie said.
They chatted leisurely while they had their coffee. Larry stayed for a half hour and then left. They looked at each other constantly during that half hour. After Mrs. Wagner showed him to the door, she came upstairs and went to the bed.
“So that’s him,” she said to Margaret.
Margaret said nothing. She lay with her head turned into the pillow, looking out the window.
“And it’s happened to you,” Mrs. Wagner said.
And with perhaps the first honest words she’d spoken to her mother since the day her grandfather died, she said, “Yes, it’s happened to me.”
It had, apparently, also happened to Linda and Hank.
It had happened with all the ferocity and all the painfully terrible sweetness of youth. Conditioned beforehand by the overt propaganda of the communications industry, they knew what to expect of love; but its unexpectedness startled them nonetheless.
The street on which they parked that night was completely unsuitable for necking during the winter months. During those months the trees were bare and the street lamps illuminated the entire block with scrutinizing intensity. Now, in April, the trees were filling out, and they cloaked the parked car in dappled denseness.
Hank McLean was not a coward, but he’d had an automobile experience which had caused him to become somewhat cautious. He and his friends had discovered a dark houseless street at the top of a hill, a dead-end street which dropped away to give a remarkable view of the sprawling lighted foothills below. It was a good spot for necking. You were safe from the police there, and the spot was certainly romantic as hell and worked particularly well with girls who needed that extra bit of encouragement before getting in the mood. He had gone there regularly with different girls. Sometimes he’d spotted his friends’ cars on the hill, and this had lent a fraternal feeling to the ritual of necking.
One night, long before he’d met Linda, he’d gone there with a girl named Suzie. None of his friends were there that night. Alone, he and Suzie parked at the top of the hill some three feet from the edge of the drop. Suzie was a girl who didn’t need encouragement. Suzie was a girl who, legend had it, had almost been kicked out of college because of a rather spirited session in the storage room behind the little theater’s stage while a play was in rehearsal. Not that Suzie was a pig. She wasn’t. She was a damn pretty girl, and Hank enjoyed her company. She just didn’t need encouragement, that was all. She was rather spirited, that was all.
They had begun necking almost instantly. They’d been exchanging kisses for perhaps fifteen minutes when the headlights appeared behind them. Curiously, Hank never once thought it might be the police. This hilltop spot, he was certain, had not yet been discovered by the fastidious minions of the law. He thought for a moment that it might be one of his friends. So he stepped on his brake pedal in three rapid dashes, which, had the car behind him belonged to a friend, would have been answered by a rapid flick of the headlights.
The car’s headlights did not flick.
Instead, the car pulled up directly behind Hank’s car, almost bumper to bumper. The doors of the car opened and four boys stepped out. It was then that Hank felt his first twinge of fear.
Luckily, it was December, and the windows of his car were rolled up. Just as luckily, and totally by chance, both his door and the door on Suzie’s side of the car were locked. The boys surrounded the car. “Open up!” they shouted, and Hank started the engine. One boy began pounding at the window on his side of the car. Hank looked behind him. He could not back away for a turn because the other car was too close. Nor could he move forward because the drop was too near to permit a turn. He had the sudden vision of himself getting beat up and Suzie getting raped. He knew this would represent no particular loss on Suzie’s part, but the entire idea revolted him. Suzie was with him. He had, in effect, made a bargain with her when he’d asked her out. He was her escort. And escorts didn’t go around letting girls get raped, no matter what the state of their virtue.
He noticed then that there was no one behind the wheel of the other car. He noticed at the same time that the boy on his side was searching the ground for a rock or a stick or anything with which he could shatter the window. “Open up, you bastard!” one of the boys shouted, and Hank realized he had to act now or take what was certainly coming within the next few minutes. He sucked in a deep breath, pushed the gearshift lever into reverse, and then rammed his foot onto the accelerator.
He hit the car behind him with considerable force. He did not take his foot from the accelerator. He felt a surge of delighted relief when the car behind him began to move. He threw his own car into low, moved forward some six feet, almost running over one of the shouting boys, and then went into reverse again, picking up speed as he headed for the other car. He hit it with a solid smash this time, the speed of an extended run behind him. The other car began rolling backward.
A boy leaped onto the running board, shouting and cursing, pounding at the window. Hank’s car was an old one, but it withstood the boy’s fist nonetheless. With elbow room now, he swung around in an arc, backed off, and then faced his car down the hill. He stepped on the gas pedal suddenly so that the car lurched forward, knocking the boy from the running board. The other car had stopped rolling, captured by the bank at the side of the road; but it was out of his way now, and he gunned his old car forward and raced down the hill.
Suzie was petrified beside him. She sat crouched on the seat, looking through the rear window, trembling. He came very close to loving her while she was trembling. She seemed more like a woman in her fear than she did while exchanging passionate kisses. The attacking boys did not give chase. He took Suzie directly home. At the front door, she kissed him with grateful tenderness. He stopped thinking he might love her as soon as she went into the apartment. But the experience that night had taught Hank a lesson. He discussed it with his friends, and they reached the conclusion that they would thereafter search out streets which were dark but lined with houses.