I actually get a letter back from Tom Ransom. It says: "Thanks for yourletter. The Youth Board got me a room in the Y on Twenty-third Street.Maybe I'll come say Hello some day. They're going to help me get a jobthis summer, so I don't need a lawyer. Thanks anyway. Meow to Cat. Best,Tom."
I go over to Nick's house to show him the letter. I'd told him about Tomgetting Cat out of the cellar and getting arrested, but Nick always actedlike he didn't really believe it. So when he sees the letter, he has toadmit Cat and I really got into something. Not everyone gets letters fromguys who have been arrested.
One thing about Nick sort of gripes me. He has to think up all the plans.Anything I've done that he doesn't know about, he downgrades. Also, Ialways have to go to _his_ house. He never comes to mine, except once in acoon's age when I have a new record I won't bring to his house because hismachine stinks and he never buys a new needle.
It's not that I don't like his house. His mom is pretty nice, and boy, canshe cook! Just an ordinary Saturday for lunch she makes pizza or real goodspaghetti, and she has homemade cookies and nut cake sitting around afterschool. She also talks and waves her arms and shouts orders at us kids,but all good-natured-like, so we just kid her along and go on with whatwe're doing.
She's about the opposite of my mom. Pop does the shouting in our house,and except for the one hassle about bike-riding on Twelfth Avenue, Momdoesn't even tell me what to do much. She's quiet, and pretty often shedoesn't feel good, so maybe I think more than most kids that I ought to dothings her way without being told.
Also, my mom is always home and always ready to listen if you gotsomething griping you, like when a teacher blames you for something youdidn't do. Some kids I know, they have to phone a string of places to findtheir mother, and then she scolds them for interrupting her.
Mom likes to cook, and she gets up some good meals for holidays, but shedoesn't go at it all the time, the way Nick's mother does. So maybe Nickdoesn't come to my house because we haven't got all that good stuffsitting around. I don't think that's it, really, though. He just likes tobe boss.
One day, a couple of weeks after we went to Coney, he does come along withme. We pick up a couple of cokes and pears at his pop's store.
Cat is sitting on my front stoop, and he jumps down and rubs between mylegs and goes up the stairs ahead of us.
"See? He knows when school gets out then it's time to eat. That's why Ilike to come home," I tell Nick.
We say "Hi" to Mom, and I get out the cat food while Nick opens his coke."You know those girls we ran into over on Coney Island?" he says.
"Yeah."
"Well, I got the blonde's phone number, so Sunday when I was hackingaround with nothing to do, I called her up."
"Yeah? What for?"
"You stupid or something? To talk. So she yacked away a good while, andfinally I asked her why didn't she come over next Saturday, we could go toa movie or something."
"Yeah." I was working on my pear, a very juicy one.
"That all you can say? So she says, well, she might, if she can get hergirl friend to come too, but she doesn't want to come alone, and hermother wouldn't let her anyway."
"Which one?"
"Which one what?"
"Which girl friend?"
"Oh. You remember, the other one we were kidding around with at the beach,the redhead. So I said, O.K., I'd see if I could get you to come too. Isaid I'd call her back."
"Hmp. I don't know."
"What d'you mean, you don't know?"
"How do I know if I like that girl? I hardly even _talked_ to her. Anyway,it sounds like a date. I don't want a date. If they just happen to comeover, I guess it's all right."
"So shall I tell them it's O.K. for Saturday?"
"Hmm."
"It's nice you learned a new word."
"Do I have to pay for the girl at the movies?"
"Cheapskate. Maybe if you just stand around saying 'Hmm,' she'll buy herown. O.K.?"
"O.K. But this whole thing is your idea, and if it stinks it's going to beyour fault."
"Boy, what an enthusiast! Come on, let's play a record and do the math."
Nick is better at math than I am, so I agree.
Saturday morning at ten o'clock Nick turns up at my house in a white shirtand slicked-down hair. Pop whistles. "On Saturday, yet! You got a girl orsomething?"
"Yessir!" says Nick, and he gives my T-shirt a dirty look. I go put asweater over it and run a comb through my hair, but I'm hanged if I'll goout looking like this is a big deal.
"We're going to a movie down at the Academy," I tell my family.
"What's there?" Pop asks.
"A new horror show," says Nick. "And an old Disney."
"Is it really a new horror show?" I ask Nick, because I think I've seenevery one that's been in town.
"Yup. Just opened. _The Gold Bug._ Some guy wrote it--I mean in a bookonce--but it's supposed to be great. Make the girls squeal anyway. I lovethat."
"Hmm." I just like horror shows anyway, whether girls squeal or not.
"You'll be the life of the party with that 'Hmm' routine."
"It's _your_ party." I shrug.
"Well, you could at least _try_."
We hang around the subway kiosk on Fourteenth Street, where Nick said he'dmeet them. After half an hour they finally show up.
It's nice and sunny, and we see a crowd bunched up over in Union Square,so we wander over. A shaggy-haired, bearded character is making a speechall about "They," the bad guys. A lot of sleepy bums are sitting aroundletting the speech roll off their ears.
"What is he, a nut or something?" the blonde asks.
"A Commie, maybe," I say. "They're always giving speeches down here.Willie Sutton, the bank robber, used to sit down here and listen, too.That's where somebody put the finger on him."
The girls look at each other and laugh like crazy, as if I'd saidsomething real funny. I catch Nick's eye and glare. O.K., I _tried_. Afterthis I'll stick to "Hmm."
A beard who is listening to the speech turns and glares at us and says,"Shush!"
"Aw, go shave yourself!" says Nick, and the girls go off in more hoots.Nick starts herding them toward Fourteenth Street, and I follow along.
At the Academy Nick goes up to the ticket window, and the girlsimmediately fade out to go read the posters and snicker together. I cansee they're not figuring to pay for any tickets, so I cough up for two.
Nick and I try to saunter up to the balcony the way we always do, but thegirls are giggling and dropping their popcorn, so the matron spots us andmotions. "Down here!" She flashes her light in our eyes, and I feel like aconvict while we get packed in with all the kids in the under-sixteensection.
Nick goes in first, then the blonde, then the redhead and me. The minutethings start getting scary, she tries to grab me, but I stick my hands inmy pockets and say, "Aw, it's just a picture." She looks disgusted.
The next scary bit, she tries to hang onto her girl friend, but the blondeis already glued onto Nick. Redhead lets out a loud sigh, and I wish Ihadn't ever got into this deal. I can't even enjoy the picture.
We suffer through the two pictures. The little kids make such a racket youcan hardly hear, and the matron keeps shining the light in your eyes soyou can't see. She shines it on the blonde, who is practically sitting inNick's lap, and hisses at her to get back. I'm not going to do this again,ever.
We go out and Nick says, "Let's have a coke." He's walking along with theblonde, and instead of walking beside me the redhead tries to catch holdof his other arm. This sort of burns me up. I mean, I don't really _like_her, but I paid for her and everything.
Nick shakes her off and calls over his shoulder to me, "Come on, chicken,pull your own weight!"
The girls laugh, on cue as usual, and I begin getting really sore. Nickgot me into this. The least he can do is shut up.
We walk into a soda bar, and I slap down thirty cents and say, "Two cokes,please."
"Hey, hey! The last of the big spenders!"
says Nick. More laughter. I'djust as soon sock him right now, but I pick up my money and say, "O.K.,wise guy, treat's on you." Nick shrugs and tosses down a buck as if he hadhundreds of them.
The two girls drink their cokes and talk across Nick. I finish mine in twoor three gulps, and finally we can walk them to the subway. Nick isgabbing away about how he'll come out to Coney one weekend, and I'mstanding there with my hands in my pockets.
"Goo'bye, Bashful!" coos the redhead to me, and the two of them disappear,cackling, down the steps. I start across Fourteenth Street as soon as thelight changes, without bothering to look if Nick is coming. He can go rot.
Along Union Square he's beside me, acting as if everything is peachy finedandy. "That was a great show. Pretty good fun, huh?"
I just keep walking.
"You sore or something?" he asks, as if he didn't know.
I keep on walking.
"O.K., be sore!" he snaps. Then he breaks into a falsetto: "Goo'bye,Bashful!"
I let him have it before he's hardly got his mouth closed. He hits me backin the stomach and hooks one of his ankles around mine so we both falldown. It goes from bad to worse. He gets me by the hair and bangs my headon the sidewalk, so I twist and bite his hand. We're gouging andscratching and biting and kicking, because we're both so mad we can hardlysee, and anyway no one ever taught us those Queensberry rules. There's nopoint in going into all the gory details. Finally two guys haul us apart.I have hold of Nick's shirt and it rips. Good. He's half crying, and hetwists away from the guy that grabbed him and screams some things at mebefore darting across the avenue.
I'm standing panting and sobbing, and the guy holding me says, "You oughtabe ashamed. Now go on home."
"Aw, you and your big mouth," I say, still mad enough to feel reckless. Hethrows a fake punch, but he's not really interested. He goes his way, andI go mine.
I must look pretty bad because a lot of people on the street shake theirheads at me. I walk in the door at home, expecting the worst, butfortunately Mom is out. Pop just whistles through his teeth.
"That must have been quite a horror picture!" he says.
5
Dave and Tom lunching in meadow above river.]
AROUND MANHATTAN