— It’s alright. Annoying to have to take two tries, but anyway.
— Well, take your time.
Lee looked around the half-empty restaurant, looked at the picture of the parapet. He sipped his Coca- Cola.
— You never gave much thought to a family?
— Wasn’t what the universe had planned for me, said Helen.
— I see. Did you want dessert?
— Oh my God, no. I had a doughnut at lunch.
When Helen was finished the waitress came back to collect the cutting boards.
— Was there anything else I could get for you folks?
— I don’t think so, said Helen.
— I’m really sorry about that steak.
Helen looked up at her and smiled, said: Do you think I don’t know how this works, hun? You take people like me and my gent here and you sit us right back by the restrooms. I know how this works.
— Ma’am, I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.
— How about just getting us the cheque.
— Right away, said the waitress.
She returned with the bill and was gone again. Helen tapped out a cigarette. Lee took the bill and looked at it and hoped nothing showed on his face.
— You don’t understand, said Helen. It’s okay. I keep remembering how things are different for you-you haven’t had the chance to see how so many people treat each other disrespectfully and all that. You want to go straight to your place?
— What else did you have in mind?
— Getting out of this snob-hole for starters. Get a drink at the Shamrock maybe.
He clapped his hand down on the tabletop: I’m not going to have a goddamn drink!
— Okay, Brown Eyes, said Helen.
People were looking at them. Lee lowered his face, stared at the tablecloth.
— Look, should we get going?
— I have to powder my nose, said Helen. I hope you don’t leave her a tip.
She got up and headed to the ladies’ room. Lee attended to the bill with cash from his wallet, conscious as ever of how much money he was spending. Then he looked over. He had a straight line of sight down the rear passageway where the washrooms were located. Helen had her head halfway out of the ladies’ room door. She was gesturing emphatically for Lee to come.
He got up from the table and headed her way, said: What’s the problem?
She pulled him in and closed the door. She was on him like a predator. Nails, teeth, tongue, taste of wine on her breath. The washroom was a space for individual use. Small and cramped, pink, the sink mounted to the wall. It smelled like cheap deodorizer.
— Somebody’s going to know we’re in here.
— I don’t care. I wouldn’t come back here. Snobs. Pricks.
She turned around and held the edge of the sink in one hand and balled her skirt up in her other hand. Her underpants were down around her ankles.
— Come on, said Helen.
— Bend over a little more.
— Careful where you stick that thing.
She reached around behind her and took firm hold of him and guided him in. She bent over farther and the angle was better. For a moment he did nothing. Then he grasped her shoulder. He took her roughly, one knee into the back of her leg as if he might trip her. He could see the sink threatening to come loose from the wall. Her nails pierced hard into the bare flesh at the tops of his legs. Afterwards, she preceded him out of the washroom, recomposing her hair as she went. He was certain all eyes in the dining room would be on them, but no one paid them any attention. He gathered his jacket from the back of the chair.
Outside all she said was: I’ll sleep tonight.
She took his arm and they walked down the street. At one point she stumbled on the curb and dropped her purse. He squatted down to retrieve it and there in the street light he saw a drop of semen on her cowboy boot, like a crude pearl inlaid in the synthetic leather.
It was one of the few evenings Pete spent at home. He was sitting on his bed reading a paperback but he was unable to concentrate on it. His thoughts kept finding their way back to Emily. The last time he’d seen her was the morning after the party two weeks ago. He thought of Billy disappearing with her into a bedroom somewhere.
— Shit, said Pete.
— I heard that.
Pete’s half-brother Luke was at the door.
— You heard that? said Pete. Well, if you snitch on me I’ll cut your head off and hang it from the wall as a warning to other snitches. Come in. Close the door. What do you want?
— What’s a Jew?
— What’s a Jew? You know what a Jew is.
— Jesus was a Jew. But the other Jews killed him. We learned about how all the Jews are guilty of it.
— Look, said Pete. You know that store in town where we bought your sneakers? Remember the guy that worked there?
Mr. Gold?
— Yes. He had glasses.
— That’s right. Anyway, Mr. Gold’s a Jew.
— He is?
— Yes. Mr. Gold. Do you think Mr. Gold personally killed Jesus?
— I don’t know.
— Yes you do. You’re not using your head, Luke. What do you really think? Did Mr. Gold at the shoe store personally kill Jesus?
— No. But Mrs. Adams said all the Jews are guilty of it. Pete sat back in his chair. A nasty feeling went through him.
— Mrs. Adams, said Pete.
— My Sunday School teacher.
— When did Mrs. Adams become your Sunday School teacher?
— When we started this year.
— Well, Luke, it’s possible that your Sunday School teacher is full of shit. You have to be careful. Not all grown-ups are right just because they’re grown-ups. Or because they’re Sunday School teachers. Would God give you a brain if he didn’t want you to use it?
— No …
— No is right.
The boy loafed about, frowning at the carpet and at Pete when it seemed Pete was looking elsewhere.
— What’s on your mind, Luke? Really?
— How come Uncle Lee went to jail?
Pete straightened up: Well, Uncle Lee did a pretty bad thing.
— What did he do?
— I don’t know for sure, but it was really bad.
— Peter …
— You want to know, Luke, because you’re eight and when you’re eight you want to know everything. But- and you’re going to be mad at me saying this-you’re too young to know, Luke. I don’t even know. But it was a really long time ago and Uncle Lee’s different now.
— He’s a good guy?
