30 Pieces of a Novel (75 page)

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. Notice how I go around and loop it here and double it for an extra-fat Windsor knot, if that's what you want. It's the style right now, along with the Billy Eckstine collar, which makes you look more like a nightclub singer than a scholar—the girls I know like the latter—and then slip it in and tug it a bit but not too tight and you got your knot.” “How'd you get the inside strip shorter than the outside? That looks hard,” and Robert said, “Forgot to show you how to measure them next to each other,” and undid the knot. Taught him how to tie a bow tie. “Who taught you, since Dad never wears them?” and Robert said, “I had a dream where I tied a bow tie perfectly except for a little back piece hanging down. Then I woke up, thought it a good opportunity to learn how while I still had what seemed like practical dream knowledge, and went out and bought one and right at the store tied it perfectly the first time except for this little back piece hanging down.” Gould was sixteen and going out on a date. “Let's see how you look,” Robert would usually say, and he'd have Gould stand in front of him and then turn around. “Tie's sticking out in back,” and he'd fix it. “What's with you and folding hankies?” and he'd take it out of Gould's jacket breast pocket and refold it. Smell his cheek and say, “Too much aftershave; you reek like a gigolo. Splash some water on your face to adulterate it…. You got a nice shine on those shoes and, let me see, no smudges on your socks. What about your hands?” and Gould held them out, and he said, “Good, no shoe polish on your nails either—that's where I mostly get it and then start smearing it on the rest of my clothes…. Hair could be parted a bit straighter, it takes a side trip about three-quarters there…. That shirt new?” and Gould said, “It's yours, do you mind?” and Robert said, “Not too roomy for you? But I guess it'll do. When you take it to the Chinese laundry tomorrow, you pay, and remember, no starch … Your pants need to be ironed,” and Robert took out the board and iron and showed him how. “Always use a dampened dish towel on them, especially the gabardine, or they'll eventually shine like glass. Anyway, you're a pretty sharp dresser now, and only two razor nicks on your face. Not bad, and nice and smooth”—feeling his cheek—“though I'd wash off the blood; your date might get queasy,” and Gould said, “No, she's a very natural type and would probably just scratch it off with her fingernail and not say peep over it,” and Robert said, “The best kind, the earth girl, I love them. No futzing around with artifice and stringing you along and painting their toes. Doesn't even blink when you break wind, am I right? What could be better, so long as you act the same natural way with her,” and Gould said, “Quite confidentially, it was a turnoff at first, if you mean when she did it—I'd never heard a girl break wind before but then never been with one so long and close. But it only happened twice and the second time I barely flinched,” and Robert said, “That's my boy, but I bet you lie…. Now remember,” Robert said another time, “never feed a girl any lines. Act genuine; be honest. She doesn't go for it, then she isn't worth your time even if you have a chance to bed her. But don't bed anyone who you know's going to be hurt if you don't want to bed her again or if all you want from her is to get her in bed, unless that's all she wants from you too. Be polite and considerate all the time to girls. Help them on with their coats, carry their heavy packages, but not if they have something against it. Open doors for them, as you should for everyone; be last getting out of a place even if there's a fire. And if there is a fire and someone's in there and you think you can save them without killing yourself or getting burned badly, do it and then deny you really did anything. All this works better than being artificially tough and crass and stupid and boastful, though you're not doing this as a ruse but because you
are
this way…. Let me see your teeth. I want to check for any specks on them,” and Gould would open his mouth. He was fifteen or sixteen, again going out on a date. “Your breath okay too? I'm not going to check for that, so tell the truth: I got some drops for it if there s a problem…. Your sideburns aren't even. Get in the bathroom and I'll do them with my barber scissors and razor,” and he evened Gould's sideburns. “You're not perfect but it's getting late and you don't want to make anyone wait, so I'll release you. Have a ball. And here's some moola in case of a lot of things; every kid your age can use a bit extra…. Remember that time a while back when I said that stuff about fire and being somewhat cautious about saving people?” and Gould said no. “Anyway, I said it and now think because of something I read in the paper that you have to risk your life if there's a chance of saving someone in a burning building, let's say, if there isn't a hundred percent chance you will get killed doing it. This doesn't go for standing up to a punk with a gun pointed at your head or any part of you except your legs. Then you got to just let him do what he's out to do, except if it's something horrible to the folks or your future wife or kids. Then you have to risk getting killed to save them from even getting shot in the legs or raped. My feeling is that your own death or something close to it will satisfy the guy or scare him off.” Whatever Robert had when they were little, he usually gave Gould half: candy, soda, cake, gum. “I don't want any, thanks,” and Robert would say, “No, you got to take or just put it away. And I sort of expect the same from you, though if you don't do it that doesn't mean I'll stop being my way,” and sometimes Gould would think, if he had the only candy bar or pack of gum, I really want to keep all of it for myself, but what'll he say if he sees me chewing and I don't offer him some? If Robert didn't want it, Gould never told him to take it for later. Robert asked him for favors only when he absolutely couldn't do the thing himself and it needed to be done immediately. He couldn't pick up his new high school football jacket at the place that made them for the whole team, so asked Gould if he would. Gould thought it a lot to ask of him, since it was more than an hour's trip to the East Bronx, but Robert said, “I've put it off and today's the last day I can go to practice without it. After that the coach said I'm demoted or off the team,” and Gould said, “That's dumb and you should tell him to jump into a lake and that you need another day. Or if it's you don't want to piss him off, make up a terrific lie; I'll help you,” and Robert said, “Just do it for me, please? What do I ever ask of you? And you think you can cut down on your cursing?” Gould went to get the jacket from school. For some reason—but he knows the reason and thinks he knew it then—he said he was Robert Bookbinder when he handed over the pickup slip and rest of the money, and the man said, “This jacket's for a kid several sizes larger than you. And it's the size you ordered—I got it down right here—so we can't be taking it back or making you another one.” “I got it big because I'm going to grow into it, and maybe out of it in a year too. I already grew six inches this year, which is how I made the team, and the doctor for my health checkup last month said another tremendous spurt's on the way.” “You want to wear it now? You'll be saving me the box and trouble tying it up,” and he said, “It's a little warm out, but with my books to carry, why not? It's a breaker, in a way, right? so I'll start breaking it in.” He put it on; it was way too large but he felt great wearing it, and the man looked him over and said, “Fits better than I thought. Wear it in good health, Bob, and chalk up a winning season and don't get hurt,” and he said, “I'll try not to, and we will. In fact we're shooting for the all-city championship; that's how good we think we are this year.” In the bus and subway rides home he stood, rather than sat, so people could see how short he was and be impressed that a kid this small made the varsity football team of a public high school, even if it was one of the elite ones. Wow, some of them could think, he must be fast and strong and smart. If anyone asked him what position he played: left halfback, specializing in running back the kick and end runs. But this
Bob
, written in cursive inside a football on the front of the jacket; it looked nice when the man held the jacket up for him, maybe better than
Robert
would, but why that name? Robert always went as Robert and nothing else, at home and with his friends. Gould had heard people call him Bob and Rob a few times, but always by mistake, and after it Robert would correct them: “If you don't mind, I prefer not to be so alliterated,” or “It sounds as if I'm a thief.” Maybe three letters were cheaper to sew on than six. Or there was something about him he didn't know: that he went by Bob with his teammates and over the loudspeaker when they announced the players, which they do in the big games, Robert had told him, like against Clinton and Brooklyn Tech. He'd ask him when Robert tried the jacket on. “Hey, it says
Bob,”
he'd say, “how come?” When Robert saw the jacket in the coat closet that night, he said, “Didn't this come in a box? A bag, anyway, and where's the receipt? You didn't wear it home, did you?” and Gould said, “No, why do you think that?” “You're lying; I can always tell—born liars don't make good liars,” and he said,
“Okay, I
wore it, because I had lots of other things to carry: my books and my sweater because it was so hot out. And I did some of my homework on the subway and bus and didn't want to be dealing with this tremendous box the man there showed me.” “You're lying again. I can always tell when you're lying again. Piece of advice: tell the truth right off and you're out of harm's way. You wore the jacket because you hoped people would think you were a high school football player, despite how small you are. And if you're going to lie, make sure you get your stories straight. You take off your sweater because it's hot but you put on an even heavier jacket?” “I kept the jacket open. And just about everything you say isn't true and I don't know what your ‘harm's way' is. Because what was the harm? I took care of the jacket good, even hung it up on a hanger in the closet,” and Robert said, “Now you're not lying; at least, most of what you just said shouldn't be considered a lie. Self-deception and pretending to misunderstand and reversing the accusations and trying to talk your way out of a bad situation or lie aren't lying. But boy, they're things you also ought to work on fixing if you ever want to be an adult.” “I don't have a clue what you mean,” and Robert said, “Now you're lying again, because one thing you're not is unconditionally stupid. And three lies in one brief conversation? I'd say your lying addiction is fatal,” and Gould said, “Enough with your predictions; they're just insults in disguise anyway,” and Robert said, “More trying to squeeze your way out of it with cleverness rather than facing the situation. Brother, you're hopeless,” and “Brother,” Gould said, after he turned around and went to their bedroom and slammed the door, “you're full of shit and a rat. How did I ever like him?”—under his breath—“ask yourself: How did you?” “Okay,” Robert said through the door a minute later, “I was wrong in a lot of what I said to you and an apology's in order, but just tell me, Where's the jacket receipt?” and he said, “I forgot to get one, or the man forget to give me it. But I know it isn't in any box or bag because I didn't want one,” and Robert said, “Oh, God, when are you going to wise up?” Robert got his driver's license soon as he was able to and started driving their father's car. He once drove Gould and himself to Brooklyn to see some relatives. Double-parked the car on an avenue with lots of one-story stores—all the parking spaces were filled—and said, “I have to get some smokes; I'll be right back.” No, said, “I got to take a leak. If the driver of either of the cars I'm blocking wants me to move, tell him I went into that coffee shop there for a bladder emergency and I'll be right out. If he wants me to move this instant, show him the car keys and tell him you don't know how to drive and your brother said he doesn't want anyone else driving the car and you'll run in to get me if he waits by our car a few seconds so we don't get ticketed. Forget the part about the bladder. Just say I went in for health reasons and I'll be right out; that wouldn't be far from the truth. By the time he starts wondering what health reasons in a coffee shop, I'll be back. If a cop comes, because I'm illegally parked, tell him the same thing and that I left my keys behind in good faith, just in case I was blocking a parked car or a fire truck had to get in here or something. But slide over behind the wheel so you look like the driver. There'll be less chance a cop will stop for you then.” “Some of that's unclear. What do I say to the cop?” and Robert said, “I haven't time to re-explain; I'm about to pee in my pants,” and ran to the coffee shop. Gould was already behind the wheel, tried turning it, but it only moved a little. Of course, engine's got to be running. He'd never started up a car. Fifteen; that's almost like a disgrace. Never been taught how, either. But he thought he could do it from having watched his father and Robert. Because what's the trick? Stick the key in, turn it, and car starts up. But keep the gearshift in
PARK
. That's important, or else the car could jump forward. He'd seen that happen with his father. And make sure the hand brake's engaged—that's the word he's heard them use—and it was. He stuck the key in and tried turning it to the right but it wouldn't move—the gas pedal, stupid!—and he put his foot on the gas pedal while he tried turning the key, but it still wouldn't move. What am I doing wrong? he thought, and put his foot farther down on the gas pedal while he tried turning the key and then tried turning it harder—and it broke. Oh, no! He tried getting the key's broken front part out but it was stuck in there. Now what? Robert was coming back and Gould moved to the passenger seat, and Robert got in, held his hand out for the keys, and said, “How'd it go? Any customers?” and Gould said, “I'm very sorry,” and showed him the broken key on the ring, and Robert said, “You didn't. Where's the other part? Not in there, I hope”—pointing—and Gould nodded, and Robert yelled, “You schmuck!” and slapped him in the chest. It didn't hurt but he'd never hit him like that before, or since he was a kid, and tears welled, and Robert said, “What's wrong? I said what in God's name is wrong? Damn, you asked for it. You put the key in upside down, you dumb idiot, and tried to start the car, right? That's the only thing that could have happened. And