"Kenneth," I said - but I knew I was licked; "this guy with the bowling ball is a good guy. There's nothing wrong with him. It's just his wife that isn't a good guy."
"Sure, I know, but - boy, Vincent! You're taking revenge for him and all. Wuddya wanna take revenge on him for? I mean. Vincent. He's all right. Let her alone. The lady, I mean. She doesn't know what she's doing. I mean about the radio and the cowboy stories and all," Kenneth said. "Let her alone, huh, Vincent? Okay?"
I didn't say anything.
"Don't have her throw that thing out the window. That bowling ball. Huh, Vinccnt? Okay?"
I nodded, "Okay," I said.
I got up and went inside to the kitchen and drank a bottle of ginger ale. He knocked me out. He always knocked me out. Then I went upstairs and tore up the story.
I came down and sat on the porch railing again, and watched him read. He looked up at me abruptly.
"Let's drive down to Lassiter's for some steamers," He said.
"All right. You want to put on a coat or something?" He only had on a striped T-shirt, and he got sunburnt the way red haired people get sunburnt.
"No I'm all right." He stood up, dropping his book on the seat of the wicker. "Let's just go. Right away," he said.
***
Rolling down my shirtsleeves, I followed him across the lawn, stopping at the edge of it, and watched him back my car out of the garage. When he had backed it into the driveway a ways, I walked over. He slid over to the right as I got into the driver's seat, and began to lower his window - it was still in a raised position from my date with Helen Beebers the night before; she didn't use to like her hair to blow. Then Kenneth pressed the dash button, and the canvas top, helped by an overhead slam of my hand, began to go to its act, collapsing finally behind the seat.
I pulled out of the driveway and into Caruck Boulevard and out of Caruck onto Ocean. It was about a seven mile drive to Lassiter's, on Ocean. The first couple of miles neither of us had anything to say. The sun was terrific. It showed up my pasty hands; ribbon-inky and nail-bitten at the fingers; but it struck and settled handsomely on Kenneth's red hair, and that seemed fair enough. I said to him, "Reach in that there compartment, Doctor. YouH find a package of cigarettes and a fifty-thousand dollar bill. I'm planning to send Lassiter through college. Hand me a cigarette."
He handed over the cigarettes, saying, "Vincent, you oughtta marry Helen. No kidding. She's going nuts, waiting around. She's not so smart or anything but that's good. You wouldn't have to argue with her so much. And you wouldn't hurt her feelings when you're sarcastic. 1 been watching her. She never knows what you're talking about. Boy, that's good! And boy, does she have swell legs."
"Why, Doctor!"
"No. No kidding, Vincent. You oughtta marry her. I played checkers with her once. You know what she did with her kings?"
"What'd she do with her kings?"
"She kept them all in the back row so I wouldn't take them. She didn't want to use them at all. Boy, that's a good kind of girl, Vincent! And you remember that time that I caddied for her? You know what she does?"
"She uses my tees. She won't use her own tees."
"You know the fifth hole? Where that big tree is right before you get to the green? She asked me to throw her ball over that ole tree. She said she never can throw it over. Boy, that's the kind of girl you wanna mariy, Vincent. You don't wanna let her get away."
"I won't." It was as though I were talking to a man twice my age.
"You will if you let your stories kill you. Don't worry about them so much. Youll be good. Youll be terrific."
We rode on, me, very happy.
"Vincent."
"What."
"When you look in that crib they got Phoebe in, are you nuts about her? Don't you feel like you're even her?"
"Yes," I said, listening to him, knowing just what he meant. "Yes."
"Are you nuts about Holden too?"
"Sure. Nice fella."
"Don't be so reticent." Kenneth said.
"All right."
"Tell everybody when you love somebody, and how much." Kenneth said.
"All right."
"Drive faster, Vincent," he said "really step on that thing."
"I gave the car all it could take, getting it up to about seventy-five.
"Attaboy!" Kenneth said.
***
In just a couple of minutes we were at Lassiter's joint. It was an off hour and there was only one car, a De Soto sedan, in the parking space; it looked locked and hot, but not oppressive because we were feeling pretty slick. We sat down at a table outside on the screened porch. At the other end of the porch a fat, baldheaded man in a yellow polo shirt sat eating blue points. He had a newspaper propped up against a salt shaker. He looked very lonesome and very much the owner of the hot, empty big sedan baking outside in the parking space.
While I tipped my chair back, trying to catch sight of Lassiter through the fly-buzzy hallway to the bar, the fat man spoke up.
"Hey Red, where'dja get that red hair?"
Kenneth turned around to look at the man, and said: "A guy gave it to me on the road."
That nearly killed the guy. He was bald as a pear. "A guy gave it to you on the road, eh?" he said. "Think he could fix me up?"
"Sure." Kenneth said. "You gotta give him a blue card, though. Last year's. He won't take this year's."
That really killed the guy. "Gotta give him a blue card, eh?" he asked, shaking.
"Yeah. Last year's." Kenneth told him.
The fat man shook on as he turned back to his newspaper; and after that he looked over at our table frequently, as though he had pulled up a chair.
Just as I started to get up, Lassiter rounded the corner of his bar and saw me sitting there. He raised thick eyebrows in greeting, and started to come forward. He was a dangerous number. I had seen him, late at night, break an empty quart beer bottle against his bar, and holding on to what was left of the neck of it, go out into the dark, salty air looking for a man whom he merely suspected of stealing fancy radiator caps from cars in his parking space. Now, coming down the hallway, he couldn't wait to ask me: "You got that smart redheaded brother a yours with you?" He couldn't see where Kenneth was until he was out on the porch. I nodded to him.
"Well!" he said to Kenneth, "How you doin kid?" I ain't seen you around much this summer.
"I was here last week. How you doin Mr. Lassiter? You beat anybody up lately?"
Lassiter chuckled with his mouth open. "WhatH it be, kid? Steamers? Lotta butter sauce?" Getting the big nod, he started to go out to the kitchen, but stopped to ask:
"Where's your brother? The little crazy one?"
"Holden," I identified. "He's away at summer camp. He's learning to shift for himself."
"Oh, yeah?" said Lassiter, interested.
"He isn't crazy." Kenneth told Lassiter.
"Ain't crazy?" Lassiter said. "If he ain't crazy, what is he?"
Kenneth stood up. His face was almost the color of his hair. "Let's get the hell out of here." Kenneth said to me. "C'mon."
"Aw, wait a minute, kid," Lassiter said quickly. "Listen, I'm only kidding. He ain't crazy. I didn't mean that. He's just mischeevious like. Be a good kid. I didn't say he was crazy. Be a good kid. Lemme bring ya some nice steamers."
With his fists clenched, Kenneth looked at me, but I gave him no sign, leaving it up to him. He sat down. "Be your age," he told Lassiter. "Gee! Don't go calling names."
"Don't get tough with Red, Lassiter!" the fat man called from the table. Lassiter didn't pay any attention to him - he was that tough.
"I got some beauty steamers, kid" he told Kenneth.
"Sure Mr. Lassiter."
Lassiter actually stumbled his way up the single step leading to the hallway.
***
When we left I told Lassiter the steamers had been swell, but he looked doubtful until Kenneth slapped him on the back.