while Bo sat at the breakfast table with a bag of potato chips. 'I'm sorry I didn't catch your match,' the dad said. 'That was a shame. I understand the guy wasn't too aggressive.'
'Aggressive, he played like a girl.' Bo had sympathy and was pouting. 'All he wanted to do was lob.'
Mickey listened.
'He didn't have any backhand. He'd push at the ball, you know, like he was playing Ping-Pong, hit it up in the air with a little spin on it.'
And Bo would break his back trying to kill it. Mickey stacked the breakfast and supper dishes in the dishwasher but didn't turn it on yet.
'The ball comes down, God, it'd hang there. You got so much time, you know, you want to kill it. What was I supposed to do, keep hitting lobs?'
Justifying, making excuses. He didn't get that from his mother. But then she wasn't sure.
Bo said, 'If I played the way he wanted we would've looked like a couple of girls.'
'I know what you mean,' the dad said. 'That's why I don't play mixed doubles anymore. It isn't worth it.'
God help me, Mickey thought. She could beat Frank in straight sets and he knew it. But she didn't say anything. After a moment she began to wonder. Maybe he didn't know it.
The telephone rang while they were still in the kitchen. Frank, with a fresh drink and a plate of cheese and crackers, was sitting at the table with Bo. Mickey stepped over to the wall phone to answer.
Marshall Taylor's voice said, 'Hi. Is this the Coast Guard? I was wondering if the coast is clear?'
Mickey said, 'What?' She took another moment and said, 'Oh, he's right here.'
She listened to Frank say, 'No, partner, I told you this morning I'm gonna be away. You remember now? ... That's right. Yeah, Bo and I are leaving eleven oh five ... You bet, partner. Shake it easy.'
Coming away from the phone Frank said, 'I think Marsh's getting hardening of the arteries.'
Leave by ten they'd have plenty of time to make the flight, Frank said. He preferred to race to the airport rather than wait around at the gate with the amateur travelers who checked in a half hour or more ahead of time.
When they had finally gone, Mickey sat down at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee and her grocery list note pad. She wrote at the top of the page:
EXCUSES --JUSTIFICATION
She was thinking of Bo. Maybe he did get it from her.
No. She didn't make excuses. At least not out loud. She kept them to herself. What she did, when Frank annoyed her she would make harmless-sounding remarks she knew would irritate him-- not often but often enough--then innocently cover up with, 'All I said was--' She would jab lightly with the needle and then duck, instead of getting mad and letting him know how she felt.
Now then--In a stab at self-analysis she wrote:
Why don't you ever speak up to Frank when he (she almost wrote 'pisses you off') does something you don't like?
She began listing the reasons, adding her reactions to the reasons, her excuses, as she went along.
Because you shouldn't get mad. (Says the goody-goody)
If you raise your voice, Frank raises his louder. (An assumption, you've never raised yours)
Frank won't listen to you anyway. You're only his wife.
(Poor me. Meant to be funny (?)
Frank isn't aware enough to know there's a problem, a personality conflict.
(How could he if you keep it a secret?)
The final reason drew no reaction. There was no excuse for the excuse and it remained simply:
No guts.
Marshall called back at 11:30, the house quiet, Mickey upstairs getting ready for bed. He said, 'Now is the coast clear?' The jerk.
She tried to sound a little annoyed. Don't call again, please. She had no intention of having lunch with him and that was that. Then said, 'Let's not do anything dumb, okay?' Including herself in the game so he wouldn't be blamed entirely. Why couldn't she simply tell him to bag his ass?
'We'll talk about it. I mean we'll talk about us tomorrow,' Marshall said. 'I'll pick you up about one o'clock.'
'I won't be here.' Desperate. 'I have to take my car in tomorrow.'
'What's wrong with your car?' 'Oh--somebody ran into it.'
'Let Frank take care of it,' Marshall said. 'Listen, the only time I can make it is around one. I'll call you first, give you the exact time. See, then I'll pull up in back, you run out and jump in. Right? Right. I'll see you.' He hung up.
She wondered what it would be like if she did fool around a little, had an affair. Go to bed with someone else. If somehow it was all right.
Out of all the men at the club, which one would she pick?
Mickey thought about it, putting on her long pajama top, getting into bed, and reached a conclusion before turning out the light.
None of them.
At 3:30 the phone rang again. Mickey groped for it in the dark.
Her mother said, 'Mickey?' making sure. Well, Bo arrived safely but hungry. She had given him a piece of homemade lemon pie and a glass of milk and finally marched him off to bed in the guest room that would be Bo's room for the next month, with his own bathroom, his towels and washcloth laid out ... and on and on and on, so Mickey was to relax and not worry about a thing. Mickey said that's fine, Mom. She said, 'Are dad and Frank still up?' Her mother said, Frank? They wanted him to come home with them and offered to drive him back, but Frank said it was too much trouble. He was on the 7 o'clock shuttle to Freeport and insisted on staying at the airport. Said we'd just get home and have to come back. After a moment, Mickey said, 'Well, you know Frank--' Her mother said, Do I. Frank and your father, those two would be up all night talking business. She said well, that's all she had to report. Mickey could sleep in peace now.
Mickey said, 'Thanks, mom, g'night.' And lay awake for at least an hour.
Chapter 8
ORDELL BROUGHT OUT HIS BOX OF HALLOWEEN MASKS, set it on the coffee table in front of Louis and said, 'Now you know how long I've been working on this deal.'
They were in Ordell's apartment, Louis stretched out in a La-Z-Boy recliner with the Magic Ottoman up. He'd been sitting here four days on and off, since Ordell had met him at Detroit Metro and told Louis he was coming home with him. Louis had said home where? Some place in Niggerville? Or-dell said no, man, nice integrated neighborhood. Ofays, Arabs, Chaldeans, a few colored folks. Ethnic, man. Eyetalian grocery, Armenian party store, Lebanese restaurant, a Greek Coney Island Red Hot where the whores had their coffee, a block of Adult Entertainment, 24-hour dirty movies, a club that locked the doors and showed you some bottomless go-go and a park where you could play 18 holes of golf. Does it excite you?
'I used to live there,' Louis said. 'Six Mile and Woodward.'
'Live there again till you rich,' Ordell said.
Louis had thought he should go to his sister's in Allen Park and take his chances on whether he and her husband Chuck would be swinging at each other by the second day. But once he stepped into Ordell's big four- bedroom apartment with a den, a dining room and a lady who came in to cook and clean anytime Ordell phoned her, well, this was the place.
Ordell had leased it a year ago when he was tight with a lady named Sandy and Sandy had invited two girlfriends to live with them who gave Ordell 'rent money,' twenty per cent of what they made entertaining tricks, so it wasn't like Ordell was pimping. They were cute ladies and the rent money they paid was usually twice as much as the $400 a month Ordell paid.
