job.”
“She told me, said she was divorced from that guy she went with in high school, Farley Something, wasn’t that his name? She said she didn’t have kids but you did.”
“I’ve got a girl, Cassie. She’s almost eleven.”
“Just one?”
Lorena doesn’t feel like telling him that they just never got around to having another one, even though Pete wanted a son, not that he didn’t want a daughter, too, but he always pictured himself playing catch with a son, taking him fishing and crabbing, doing all that stuff that girls don’t do.
But all she says to Binky is, “Just one.”
“So, where is she?” he asks.
“She’s at her dancing lesson.”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah. Tap. She just started. I think she’s got talent.”
Binky gives another belch, smaller, more discreet this time. “I used to take accordion lessons.”
“The
accordion
?” She can’t picture Binky pushing that serpentine instrument between his big square-fingered hands, playing “Lady of Spain wah-wah-wah-wah …” “I don’t remember anybody playing the accordion except for Winnie Wachholder, who used to play during assemblies.”
“I was little when I played. Eight or nine. My mother made me.” He looks crumpled when he says this, as if his mother is standing over him right now. “And then I threw it out my bedroom window into the driveway and my dad drove over it.” He’s distracted by the memory but snaps right back. “So she’s at her dancing lesson now?”
“Yeah. Her lesson’s on Thursdays. Takes the bus, gets home around four.”
“She any good?”
“Not yet. She hates it. But she’s got real talent, that’s what I think. She’s very original, makes up her own steps. She just needs to get the basics down.”
“But if she hates it …”
“She just thinks she hates it. She has to give it a chance, develop her talent.” Lorena sighs. “I wish I had had a mother who made me develop my talent.”
“Talent? What’s your talent?”
She looks at him, pushes her bottom lip out in a pout. Doesn’t he remember? “I dance,” she says.
“Dance? What kind of dance? Jitterbug?”
“Well, yeah.” Doesn’t he remember everybody standing around clapping when she was on the dance floor? How good she was? “But tap dance is my specialty. I’m working on my routine. I’m going to try out for one of those amateur-hour shows on TV. You know, Ted Mack, Arthur Godfrey.”
“I got a cousin does that.”
“He dances?”
“Naw. He finds people. For Arthur Godfrey.”
“He’s a
talent scout
?” Lorena clutches her hands and flings them to her chest. “For Arthur
Godfrey?”
“My cousin Wally. He’s from Norfolk. Always was kind of … different, you know, showbizzy like. Ran away to Hollywood when he was sixteen but my aunt Edna made him come homeand finish high school. Now he lives in New York, travels all over looking for people to go on
Arthur Godfrey.
That’s his job.”
“Oh my God,” says Lorena.
“Well, he’s not
that
special,” Binky says, his voice tinged with annoyance. “He’s more weird than special.”
“Can I meet him?”
“What?”
“Can I meet him?
Please!”
Binky shrugs. “Well. I dunno. He’s hardly ever around anymore. I mean, I don’t even know if he’d remember me, it’s been so long—”
“Listen,” Lorena interrupts. “You track Wally down and meanwhile I’ll perfect my routine so that when you do find him, I’ll be ready.”
“Sure. Sure thing,” Binky agrees, snaps his wrist to his face, looks bug-eyed at his watch. “Oh boy. I’m late. I gotta get going. First day on the route, got to stay on schedule.”
Lorena leaps between him and the mailbag as he reaches down to retrieve it. “I would be forever, and I do mean forever, indebted to you if I could meet Wally,” she cries, and grabs his hand.
“Hey,” he responds with a grin. “My turn,” and he pulls her hand to his lips. “Remember? In the parking lot?” he murmurs,
“She told me, said she was divorced from that guy she went with in high school, Farley Something, wasn’t that his name? She said she didn’t have kids but you did.”
“I’ve got a girl, Cassie. She’s almost eleven.”
“Just one?”
Lorena doesn’t feel like telling him that they just never got around to having another one, even though Pete wanted a son, not that he didn’t want a daughter, too, but he always pictured himself playing catch with a son, taking him fishing and crabbing, doing all that stuff that girls don’t do.
But all she says to Binky is, “Just one.”
“So, where is she?” he asks.
“She’s at her dancing lesson.”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah. Tap. She just started. I think she’s got talent.”
Binky gives another belch, smaller, more discreet this time. “I used to take accordion lessons.”
“The
accordion
?” She can’t picture Binky pushing that serpentine instrument between his big square-fingered hands, playing “Lady of Spain wah-wah-wah-wah …” “I don’t remember anybody playing the accordion except for Winnie Wachholder, who used to play during assemblies.”
“I was little when I played. Eight or nine. My mother made me.” He looks crumpled when he says this, as if his mother is standing over him right now. “And then I threw it out my bedroom window into the driveway and my dad drove over it.” He’s distracted by the memory but snaps right back. “So she’s at her dancing lesson now?”
“Yeah. Her lesson’s on Thursdays. Takes the bus, gets home around four.”
“She any good?”
“Not yet. She hates it. But she’s got real talent, that’s what I think. She’s very original, makes up her own steps. She just needs to get the basics down.”
“But if she hates it …”
“She just thinks she hates it. She has to give it a chance, develop her talent.” Lorena sighs. “I wish I had had a mother who made me develop my talent.”
“Talent? What’s your talent?”
She looks at him, pushes her bottom lip out in a pout. Doesn’t he remember? “I dance,” she says.
“Dance? What kind of dance? Jitterbug?”
“Well, yeah.” Doesn’t he remember everybody standing around clapping when she was on the dance floor? How good she was? “But tap dance is my specialty. I’m working on my routine. I’m going to try out for one of those amateur-hour shows on TV. You know, Ted Mack, Arthur Godfrey.”
“I got a cousin does that.”
“He dances?”
“Naw. He finds people. For Arthur Godfrey.”
“He’s a
talent scout
?” Lorena clutches her hands and flings them to her chest. “For Arthur
Godfrey?”
“My cousin Wally. He’s from Norfolk. Always was kind of … different, you know, showbizzy like. Ran away to Hollywood when he was sixteen but my aunt Edna made him come homeand finish high school. Now he lives in New York, travels all over looking for people to go on
Arthur Godfrey.
That’s his job.”
“Oh my God,” says Lorena.
“Well, he’s not
that
special,” Binky says, his voice tinged with annoyance. “He’s more weird than special.”
“Can I meet him?”
“What?”
“Can I meet him?
Please!”
Binky shrugs. “Well. I dunno. He’s hardly ever around anymore. I mean, I don’t even know if he’d remember me, it’s been so long—”
“Listen,” Lorena interrupts. “You track Wally down and meanwhile I’ll perfect my routine so that when you do find him, I’ll be ready.”
“Sure. Sure thing,” Binky agrees, snaps his wrist to his face, looks bug-eyed at his watch. “Oh boy. I’m late. I gotta get going. First day on the route, got to stay on schedule.”
Lorena leaps between him and the mailbag as he reaches down to retrieve it. “I would be forever, and I do mean forever, indebted to you if I could meet Wally,” she cries, and grabs his hand.
“Hey,” he responds with a grin. “My turn,” and he pulls her hand to his lips. “Remember? In the parking lot?” he murmurs,
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