Boys & Girls Together by William Goldman Page B

piker, and to top it all off she looked so sexy he was weak. She sat—lush, plump, ripe, rich, ready—staring out at the city. Nineteen and already she had designs on the whole world. Sid watched her, passion mounting. He was not used to women giving him trouble and it upset him. And when he got upset, he got upset right smack in the pit of his stomach. So when they reached the Red Star Inn (to Sid’s mind the best German restaurant in captivity, no question) his stomach was as knotted as a basket of snakes. He ordered the duck but picked at it only, and the apple pancake for dessert went so untouched as to be salable all over again with maybe a little reheating. Esther, however, ate like a wrestler. Oblivious to his torment, with delicate fingers she spooned down the sauerbraten and potato pancakes and red cabbage and applesauce and strudel. When she was done, Sid paid (bitterly) the bill and they walked out of the Red Star, crossed Clark Street (here Sid took her soft arm, the shock of contact almost electrifying—can a mere arm be voluptuous? Ye gods!) and headed east toward the Gold Coast. The uniformed doormen filled Sid with even more than customary envy (he saw her eyes, saw them covet the shined doorknobs, the carpeted entrance-ways, the spotless elevators beyond), so he walked faster, quickly leaving Esther paces behind. She noted the separation but made no attempt to catch up. Finally, Sid dropped back until they were parallel again.
    “We gotta crawl?” Sid said.
    “After a big meal I don’t speed.”
    “Yeah.”
    “You should learn to enjoy your food.”
    “What?” Sid stopped dead.
    “If you’re not going to eat, don’t order.”
    “You kept me waiting!”
    “What?”
    “For an hour and a half. A lousy hour and a half she keeps me waiting and then she tells me to enjoy my food!”
    “You lie!”
    Somehow her venom equaled his; her eyes burned just as bright. Sid quailed. “Huh?”
    “I know you big shots!” She moved up right next to him, almost touching (but not quite), and let fire. “I knew you were gonna keep me waiting. You wait two weeks to see me, you wanna make me suffer. I read you, Mr. Big Shot. You kept me waiting forty-five minutes. Well, I kept you waiting forty-six. One minute more. Just one minute. But one minute more .”
    “Just you hold your water, Tootsie.”
    “You hold yours. Nobody made you see me. Nobody but you. I’m the belle of the ball, Sport. Everybody wants me. Everybody wants little Esther. Well, goody for little Esther is what I say. She’s king of the mountain and she’s happy up there.” She stopped talking but her eyes still burned.
    Sid looked away. “I’m sorry, Esther,” he mumbled, hoping like a bastard it sounded sincere. “I’m really sorry. I should be shot, talking to you like that. Forgive me, Esther. Please.”
    “Forgiven,” she said, and they started walking again, neither speaking. She was busy dreaming again of the life inside the doormanned buildings. Sid was busy making plans.
    Obviously she craved him as he craved her. (Why else the outburst?) And obviously he was going to satisfy her cravings (the little bitch) because he was a gentleman and liked leaving the ladies happy and because nobody yelled at him like that and got away with it. Nobody mocked him. Not her; not nobody.
    “I hate myself sometimes,” Sid said, the words catching in his throat the way they always did when he wanted them to. The last syllable, “times,” had an almost authentic sobbing quality. She looked at him but he turned away perfectly, his face to the wind. The wind made him blink and luck was with him—one tiny tear formed in the corner of his eye. Sid turned back to her, made certain she saw it, then shook his head. “You pegged me, Esther. From the very start.”
    “I did?”
    Sid nodded. “Dead through the heart.”
    He pointed toward the lake and she nodded, so he took her arm gently, guiding her toward the water. The night was cool here,