The Bachman Books

'Yeah,' he said.

'So she's out in Cleveland for a little while.'

'Yeah.'

'Yeah.'

They looked at each other and grinned shamefacedly over the fact of death.

'How is it?' he asked. 'Out there in Northside?'

'Well, I'll tell you the truth, Bart. Nobody seems very friendly.'

'No?'

'You know Ellen works down at the bank?'

'Yeah, sure.'

'Well, a lot of the girls used to have a car pool-I used to let Ellen have the car every Thursday. That was her part. There's a pool out in Northside into the city, but all the women who use it are part of some club that Ellen can't join unless she's been there at least a year. '

'That sounds pretty damn close to discrimination, Jack.'

'Fuck them,' Jack said angrily. 'Ellen wouldn't join their goddam club if they crawled up the street on their hands and knees. I got her her own car. A used Buick. She loves it. Should have done it two years ago.'

'How's the house?'

'It's fine,' Jack said, and sighed. 'The electricity's high, though. You should see our bill. That's no good for people with a kid in college.'

They shuffled. Now that Jack's anger had passed, the shamefaced grin was back on his face. He realized that Jack was almost pathetically glad to see someone from the neighborhood and was prolonging the moment. He had a sudden vision of Jack knocking around in the new house, the sound from the TV filling the rooms with phantom company, his wife a thousand miles away seeing her mother into the ground.

'Listen, why don't you come back to the house?' he asked. 'We'll have a couple of six-packs and listen to Howard Cosell explain everything that's wrong with the NFL.'

'Hey, that'd be great.'

'Just let me call Mary after we check out.'

He called Mary and Mary said okay. She said she would put some frozen pastries in the oven and then go to bed so she wouldn't give Jack her cold.

'How does he like it out there?' she asked.

'Okay, I guess. Mare, Ellen's mother died. She's out in Cleveland for the funeral. Cancer.'

'Oh, no.'

'So I thought Jack might like the company, you know-'

'Sure, of course. ' She paused. 'Did you tell hib we bight be neighbors before log?'

'No,' he said. 'I didn't tell him that.'

'You ought to. It bight cheer hib ub.'

'Sure. Good-bye, Mary.'

'Bye.

'Take some aspirin before you go to bed.'

'I will.'

'Bye. '

'Bye, George.' She hung up.

He looked at the phone, chilled. She only called him that when she was very pleased with him. Fred-and-George had been Charlie's game originally.

He and Jack Hobart went home and watched the game. They drank a lot of beer. But it wasn't so good.

When Jack was getting into his car to go home at quarter past twelve, he looked up bleakly and said: 'That goddam highway. That's what fucked up the works.'

'It sure did.' He thought Jack looked old, and it scared him. Jack was about his age.

'You keep in touch, Bart.'

'I will.'

They grinned hollowly at each other, a little drunk, a little sick. He watched Jack's car until its taillights had disappeared down the long, curving hill.

November 27, 1973

He was a little hung-over and a little sleepy from staying up so late. The sound of the laundry washers kicking onto the extract cycle seemed loud in his ears, and the steady thump-hiss of the shirt presses and the ironer made him want to wince.

Freddy was worse. Freddy was playing the very devil today.