The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz by Mordecai Richler Page B

why the others watched him so apprehensively while he dressed. Duddy took half an hour combing his hair into a pompadour with the help of lots of brilliantine. He selected from among his shirts a new one with red and black checks and the tie he chose was white with a black and blue pattern of golf balls and clubs. His green sports jacket had wide shoulders, a one-button roll, and brown checks. A crease had been sewn into his gray flannel trousers. He wore two-tone shoes.
    Bernie Altman looked hard at Irwin and stopped Duddy as he was going out. “Listen,” he said, “I’ll lend you my suit if you like.”
    “Jeez, that’s nice of you, Bernie. I’m going dancing tonight. But this is the first chance I’ve had to wear this jacket. A heavy date, you know. Thanks anyway.”
    Irwin choked his laughter with his pillow.
    “Look, Duddy, I – Oh, what’s the use? Have a good time.”
    Outside, Linda leaned on the horn of her father’s station wagon. Duddy ran.
    “You’re a son of a bitch, Irwin. A real son of a bitch.”
    “Did I pick those clothes for him?”
    “Why is she going out with Duddy?”
    “Yeah, what have you two cooked up?” Donald asked.
    Duddy and Linda drove to Hilltop Lodge, the resort with the best band, and ordered Scotch on the rocks. Many of the bright young people there waved. Two or three raised their eyebrows when they saw that Linda was with Duddy. “We’re engaged,” Linda said. “He uses Ponds.”
    Duddy danced with her three or four times. She was O.K. on the slow ones, but when the band played something hot, a boogie-woogie, for instance, Duddy switched to his free-swinging F.F.H.S. Tea Dance style and all at once the floor was cleared and everyone stood around watching. At first this seemed to delight Linda, she laughed a lot, but the second time round she quit on Duddy in the middle of a dance. Once, during a slow number, he held her too close.
    “Please,” she said.
    “This is called a ‘Y’ dance,” Duddy said. But she didn’t get the joke.
    Linda invited three others to their table and Duddy ordered drinks for them. Melvin Lerner, a dentistry student, held hands with Jewel Freed. They were both working at Camp Forest Land. The other man was bearded and somewhat older than the others; he was thirty maybe. Peter Butler lived in Ste. Agathe all year round, he had built his own house on a secluded part of the lake.
    “Peter’s a painter,” Linda said to Duddy.
    “Inside or outside?”
    “That’s good,” Peter said. “That’s very good.” He slapped his knees again and again.
    Duddy looked puzzled.
    “He’s not joking,” Linda said. “Peter’s not a house painter, Duddy. He paints pictures. Peter is a nonfigurative painter.”
    “Like Norman Rockwell,” Peter said, laughing some more.
    “Touché,”
Linda said, and she ordered another round of drinks.
    “What do you do?” Melvin asked Duddy.
    “He’s making a study of the hotel business like,” Linda said.
    Peter and Linda danced two slow numbers together and when Duddy looked up again they were gone. An hour later Linda returned alone, her face flushed and bits of dead leaves stuck to her dress. “I need a drink,” she said. “A big one.”
    “Maybe we oughta go. I’ve got to be up at seven tomorrow.”
    “One for the road.”
    So Duddy ordered another round. Maybe it was the liquor – he was certainly not used to it – but all at once it seemed to him that Linda had changed. Her voice softened and she began to ask him lots of questions about his plans for the future. She was not ridiculing him any more, he was sure of that, and he was no longer afraid of her. From time to time the room swayed around him and he was glad he wasn’t the one who would have to drive home. But dizzy as he was he felt fine. He no longer heard all her remarks, however, because he was thinking that hotel owners’ daughters had fallen for poor boys before and, given a shot at it, there were lots of improvements he could