that, and each time he sat nearer to the drained, expressionless group on the fire escape. On Sunday afternoon he brought six bottles of ice-cold beer with him, laid them on the steps, shrugged his shoulders, and walked off to his rock again. Yvette went over to him.
“Is the beer for us?”
“Let’s not make a fuss, eh? I got some big tips today, that’s all.”
“You’re very nice. Thanks.”
“Aw.”
“Won’t you join us?”
“I’ve got to get back,” he said, “see you,” and he hurried off, embarrassed, to the dormitory. He found Irwin going through his suitcase there. “Hey!”
“Somebody stole my watch.”
“Keep away from my stuff or you’ll get this,” Duddy said, making a fist. “You’ll get this right in the kisser.”
A couple of afternoons later Irwin rushed into the dormitory. “Do you know what Duddy told Linda this afternoon?” he asked the boys. “Some fantastic story about a brother Bradley who owns a ranch in Arizona.”
“So?”
“I happen to know he only has one brother. He’s in med, I think.”
“All right. He lied. Big deal.”
“He’s taking Linda out tonight,” Irwin said in his liquid whisper.
When Duddy entered the dormitory a half hour later, the boys watched apprehensively as he shaved and shined his shoes. Bernie Altman would have liked to warn him that something was up, but Irwin was there and it was impossible.
Duddy was pleased, but he felt jumpy too. He didn’t know much about broads, though there had naturally been lots of rumors and reports. Of Flora Lubin, for instance, he had heard it said, “That one likes it the Greek way,” but watching Flora walk down the street with her schoolbooks held to her breast Duddy couldn’t imagine it. Neither could he credit another report, this one about Grepsy Segal’s big sister, that, as A.D. put it, she jerks away for dear life every night. (A girl couldn’t, anyway, she didn’t have a tool.)
Through the years Duddy had collected lots of injunctions about broads and the handling thereof. War Assets safes are not safe. Tell them anything but never put it in writing. “Talk, talk, talk, but no matter what they say there’s only one thing they really want.” Don’t give your correct name and address unless it’s really necessary. The hottest are redheads and the easiest single ones over twenty-seven. “A good thing is to start with tickling the back of the neck. That kills them. It’s a scientific fact.” Gin excites them. Horseback riding gives them hot pants too. Cherries are trouble, but married ones miss it something terrible. “Jewish girls like it just as much as
shiksas
. More, maybe,
I
know.”
Sure, Duddy thought, sure, sure, maybe it was all on the legit, but applying it was another thing. A guy could get his face slapped, or worse.
There were various approaches, of course. He had learned some at the hotel. Paddy Schwartz, the bachelor who came to Rubin’s every summer for a two-month stay, had a crack at all the goods underforty-five. “If nine say no,” he told Duddy, “then maybe the tenth will be agreeable. The thing is to keep in there pitching.” Paddy was tall and dark with graying curly hair, but Duddy was disheartened to discover that his private approaches were never nearly so dashing as his public style. After filling his filly of the night – that’s what he called them – with drink, he’d say he had a bum ticker and had been given only six months to live. Then, his eyes filled with tears, he’d add that the filly was the most beautiful he had ever met, and was she going to send him to his maker without a night of love? Ed Planter, the furrier in 408, pursued the single ones, the office girls, but only after it had become clear to them that the vacation was ending with no marriage candidate around. He’d take them out, spending lavishly, and then, back outside the single room at the hotel, he’d say, “I had a little dream about you last night, honey. I
“Is the beer for us?”
“Let’s not make a fuss, eh? I got some big tips today, that’s all.”
“You’re very nice. Thanks.”
“Aw.”
“Won’t you join us?”
“I’ve got to get back,” he said, “see you,” and he hurried off, embarrassed, to the dormitory. He found Irwin going through his suitcase there. “Hey!”
“Somebody stole my watch.”
“Keep away from my stuff or you’ll get this,” Duddy said, making a fist. “You’ll get this right in the kisser.”
A couple of afternoons later Irwin rushed into the dormitory. “Do you know what Duddy told Linda this afternoon?” he asked the boys. “Some fantastic story about a brother Bradley who owns a ranch in Arizona.”
“So?”
“I happen to know he only has one brother. He’s in med, I think.”
“All right. He lied. Big deal.”
“He’s taking Linda out tonight,” Irwin said in his liquid whisper.
When Duddy entered the dormitory a half hour later, the boys watched apprehensively as he shaved and shined his shoes. Bernie Altman would have liked to warn him that something was up, but Irwin was there and it was impossible.
Duddy was pleased, but he felt jumpy too. He didn’t know much about broads, though there had naturally been lots of rumors and reports. Of Flora Lubin, for instance, he had heard it said, “That one likes it the Greek way,” but watching Flora walk down the street with her schoolbooks held to her breast Duddy couldn’t imagine it. Neither could he credit another report, this one about Grepsy Segal’s big sister, that, as A.D. put it, she jerks away for dear life every night. (A girl couldn’t, anyway, she didn’t have a tool.)
Through the years Duddy had collected lots of injunctions about broads and the handling thereof. War Assets safes are not safe. Tell them anything but never put it in writing. “Talk, talk, talk, but no matter what they say there’s only one thing they really want.” Don’t give your correct name and address unless it’s really necessary. The hottest are redheads and the easiest single ones over twenty-seven. “A good thing is to start with tickling the back of the neck. That kills them. It’s a scientific fact.” Gin excites them. Horseback riding gives them hot pants too. Cherries are trouble, but married ones miss it something terrible. “Jewish girls like it just as much as
shiksas
. More, maybe,
I
know.”
Sure, Duddy thought, sure, sure, maybe it was all on the legit, but applying it was another thing. A guy could get his face slapped, or worse.
There were various approaches, of course. He had learned some at the hotel. Paddy Schwartz, the bachelor who came to Rubin’s every summer for a two-month stay, had a crack at all the goods underforty-five. “If nine say no,” he told Duddy, “then maybe the tenth will be agreeable. The thing is to keep in there pitching.” Paddy was tall and dark with graying curly hair, but Duddy was disheartened to discover that his private approaches were never nearly so dashing as his public style. After filling his filly of the night – that’s what he called them – with drink, he’d say he had a bum ticker and had been given only six months to live. Then, his eyes filled with tears, he’d add that the filly was the most beautiful he had ever met, and was she going to send him to his maker without a night of love? Ed Planter, the furrier in 408, pursued the single ones, the office girls, but only after it had become clear to them that the vacation was ending with no marriage candidate around. He’d take them out, spending lavishly, and then, back outside the single room at the hotel, he’d say, “I had a little dream about you last night, honey. I
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