‘Elit-isss, yessir.’
Their laughter progressed toward a laughing jag.
‘Elit-isss-t,’ Cody said through his laughter.
‘Elit-isss-t,’ Hatcher replied.
‘Why’d you do this for me, maggot. I been giving you an awful lot of shit. Was it because I gave you that advice ‘bout Snyder?’
‘Maybe.’
‘F’r the record, I wasn’t doing you any favors, Hatcher, I’m an opportunis’, prob’ly the wors’ snob of the bunch. Next year I’m capt’n of the boxing team and right now Snyder’s our only middle-weight and Snyder’s got a glass jaw. A good, hard shot and ‘s ass is planted. I want a winning team, maggot, and I need a good middleweight for that, so I gotta keep you around until spring tryouts, see what kinda stuff you got.’
‘Well,’ Hatcher said with a shrug, “s good a reason as any.’ And then after a pause he added, ‘But it’d take more than you and Snyder to get rid of me.’
Cody looked at him with surprise, and then, leaning back against the bed with the bottle perched on his knee, he nodded. ‘Y’know somp’n, I think you’re right,’ he said and passed the bottle back. ‘What the hell’re you doin’ here, maggot? Why aren’t you back in Boston?’
‘I couldn’t afford it. Besides, the only people I really want to see are out West skiing.’
‘No kidd’n. Me too, maggot, got n’place to go. M’ old man’s in the Far East somewhere and Mrs Cody’s on a Caribbean cruise. Wha’ the hell’s the diff’rence, anyway. Just ‘nother day, right?’
He took a deep swig and handed the bottle to Hatcher.
‘Mostly, though, it’s because m’ lady fair — sweet, adorable Cassie — decided to marry a lawyer. Can you believe that, she’s marrying one of those fuckin’ blood suckers. She decided she didn’ wanna be a sailor’s wife.’
‘Well, you can’t really blame her for that.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘Also she didn’ wanna wait three more years to legalize her favorite sport.’ Cody giggled and held the vodka bottle up in a toast. ‘To past sport with Cassie.’
He took a swig and handed it back to Hatcher.
‘I know how it is,’ said Hatcher. ‘‘1y girl dropped me for a wrestler. Talk about humiliating. No neck and solid muscle from the balls of his feet to the top of his head.’ He held up the bottle. ‘Here’s to stupidity.’
‘What’re you gonna do New Year’s Eve, maggot?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Ever seen Times Square on New Year’s Eve?’
‘Mr. Cody, I don’t have the price of a bus ticket to the showers.’
‘Well, money is not one of my problems. It’s on me, jus’ don’t ever tell anybody that Cody and the maggot Hatcher spent the weekend together.’ He winked and laughed and took a swig. ‘We’ll stay in a fancy hotel, order up room service, maybe even fin’ a coupla friendly ladies. And at midnight, we’ll go down ‘mong the heathen hordes.’ Cody held up the bottle. ‘To the heathen hordes.’
And so Midshipman Murph Cody and maggot Christian Hatcher went off to New York for New Year’s.
From the moment they got on the bus it was Murph and Hatch, and finding lonely ladies was not a problem — selection was the problem. The bars were crowded, there were parties in the rooms that overflowed into the halls and parties in the streets. There was an epidemic of brotherly love. And occasionally when opportunity presented itself in the form of two lonely ladies, Hatcher and Cody would vote, holding the fingers of one hand behind their backs and then flashing them. If the total number of fingers for each was more than seven, they would make a move. They scored before dark.
The girls were roommates. Helen, who was with Murph, was an assistant photo editor for a news magazine. Hatcher’s date, Linda, was an usher at one of the Broadway theaters. Both were eights. And both slept in the same room, so there was the added sense of excitement that came with trying not to be too demonstrative with another couple a few feet away.
Two in the morning and the sharp, intrusive ring of the telephone. Helen took the call. ‘Hi Mom, Happy New — What?. . . Oh, no! When?. . . Oh God, Momma, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Yes, yes . .‘ She cradled the phone and sat on the edge of the bed, shaking and crying, and Cody sat up and put a blanket around her shoulders.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘My brother . . . was in an automobile . . . automobile . . . wreck. I’ve got to go straight to the hospital. They don’t think. . . don’t think . .
‘C’mon, get dressed. I’ll take you.’
‘It’s way out in Queens.’
‘Hey, get dressed. I don’t care where it is, you can’t go alone.’
Cody was a true gentleman. His macho bravado had vanished when they met the girls, replaced by a tenderness that astounded Hatcher. Now Cody organized the trek to the hospital quickly, and when they were gone Hatcher and Linda lay side by side in the bed, the news of the wreck somehow making sex — even touching — seem self-indulgent and frivolous. They lay there for a long time, Hatcher dozing off, then ‘waking, then dozing off again. The sky was turning gray when the doorbell rang.
Linda sat bolt upright in bed.
‘My God, who could that be?’ she whispered. Hatcher scrambled to the door and peered through the peephole.
‘It’s Murph,’ he said and opened the door.
Cody stood there with his hat under his arm.
‘Just thought you’d like to know that Fred — that’s Helen’s brother — is gonna make it.’
‘Hey, that’s great,’ Hatcher said.
‘I didn’t know the phone number, that’s why I didn’t call.’
‘Hey, right, we’re glad to get the news.’
‘Uh.. .‘
‘Yeah?’
‘I don’t feel like going back to the hotel alone,’ he said quietly.
Linda, huddled in a bathrobe, appeared in the doorway beside Hatcher.
‘C’mon,’ she said, drawing Cody into the apartment. Hatcher and Linda got back in bed and watched Cody strip to his shorts, and as he sat on the edge of the bed taking off his socks, Linda looked at Hatcher and turned back to Cody and said, ‘Hey, sailor, come on over here, this bed’s warm already.’
Cody smiled and looked at Hatcher, who motioned him over; he crossed the room and slid in beside Linda. And Hatcher and Murphy each put an arm around her and they all fell back to sleep.
Hatcher, in remembering that night, thought, My God, was life ever really that simple and innocent? Had friendship and love ever been closer together than on that night?
Then the next morning they were back on the bus, and suddenly Hatcher was ‘maggot’ again and it was as if the trip had never happened.
Spring 1964. There was still a chill in the air but fifty miles away in Washington the Japanese apple trees were in bloom and tourists were crowding the malls and parks shooting pictures, and at the academy Hatcher was double-timing across the yard thinking, Two more months, only two more months, and this shit will be over.
The now familiar voice cried, ‘Maggot!’
Hatcher stopped immediately, chin in, eyes boring straight ahead. Cody stood behind him.
‘Tryouts at the gym, three tomorrow. Be there.’
‘Yes, sir!’
Hatcher got to the gym early and ‘worked the fast bag for fifteen minutes, loosening up, enjoying the familiar arena smell of alcohol and Ben Gay. Then Snyder showed up, cocky as always.
Cody, still a few weeks from being captain of the team, was acting referee. When they called for the middleweights, Cody made sure Hatcher and Snyder were paired off against each other.
‘Three rounds,’ he said. ‘Winner makes the team, loser goes to the bone pile. Break clean when I tell you to, no rabbit punching. Shake and come outfighting.’
He checked Snyder’s gloves, patted him on the shoulder, then crossed to Hatcher’s corner and, leaning over, checking the laces, said very softly, ‘I told you he’s got a glass jaw. He also has a left uppercut like a torpedo. He’ll try to infight and tag you with the left. Box him two rounds to slow him up, move in and keep on top of the left so he can’t throw it. One good shot anywhere from the point to the ear and you’ll plant him.’