something about her that made him wish they'd never met.
"Hey, man." Richie sat on the bench next to him. "Why ain'tcha playin'?"
"I dunno." He shrugged. "Don't feel like it."
"Despie give you a bad time las' night?" Buddy smiled. If Richie only knew Buddy lost his cherry he would flip. Buddy himself was amazed that he wasn't shouting it from the rooftops. Sex wasn't anything like he thought it would be. It was a bitch. "Despie give you trouble?"
"Nah."
"How far you go?"
"Far enough."
"Don't wanna talk?"
"I guess not, man."
Richie shrugged and got up. "O.K., man, it's on you."
Sunday was always a drag. It was cold and windy. The few trees in Big Playground were leafless. Buddy still hadn't finished the report due Monday for social studies. He couldn't concentrate on anything but Despie. He walked across the basketball courts and through the hole in the fence to the street. Fishing in his pockets for a dime, he went into Pioneer's Candy Store and sat in a phone booth. He hated the panicky feeling in his gut. He had nothing to say, vet he had to talk to her.
The number was busy.
No one answered.
Wrong number.
No one answered.
No one answered.
Buddy left the candy store, his clothing soaked with nervous sweat. Everyone had left the playground. He went upstairs and tried to call Despie. Still no answer. He took out his loose-leaf, opened it to a clean page, and wrote
He took out the WYC-XAU volume of the
Home and Hearth Encyclopedia,
opened it to the XYZ Affair, and began copying verbatim. After every ten sentences he would get up and call Despie's number. She hated him. He bored her. She wasn't a virgin. She fucked Nazis and niggers before breakfast. His dick was too small. He loved her. She gave head to all the guys on Lester Avenue. Terror liked to shit in her mouth. When he was in the closet she laughed herself to sleep. She told her parents, and they all had a good laugh. Lenny Arkadian knew the inside of her cunt like the back of his hand. She was out fucking
right now.
He loved her. He did. He really did.
"Hello?"
"You're home."
"Who's this?"
"Buddy."
"Hi."
"Where were you?"
"I was at my uncle's house."
"What were you doing there?"
"Whadya mean what was I doing there? He's my uncle. We went to visit my uncle."
"Sorry."
"Buddy, is something wrong?"
"Nah."
"Look, I gotta go, my friends are waiting for me. Bye."
Before he could say goodbye, the phone clicked. His stomach frosted over. Friends. What friends? Boyfriends? Probably. But he'd be cool. The fastest way to lose a girl is to be possessive. What uncle? She didn't say anything to him before about an "uncle." Uncle my ass. Uncle Sam maybe. Fucking for the troops. Uncle Sam wants you.
That night Despie sat at her desk doing her homework and listening to the Scott Muni Show on the radio. She couldn't figure Buddy out. She liked him and maybe would like to go steady with him in time, but he acted so goddamn weird. Maybe they shouldn't have done it so soon. She wasn't sure he could handle it. Maybe after he calmed down a little they'd have a talk. On the radio a slow piano led into a song. "O.K., gang, this is a dedication from Buddy to Despie. Listen to the words. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles doin' it to ya."
I don't lak you, but ah luh-uv you,
Seems that I'm all-way-yays thinking uv you
Though-wo-wo you treat me badly,
I love you madly,
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
Despie sat in stunned silence. The words went in one ear and out the other. The phone started ringing, and in two hours Despie got calls from six girl friends. Despie didn't think about the words of the song. It could have been "Duke of Earl" or Beethoven—it didn't matter. The only things that mattered were that Scott Muni mentioned her name over the radio and Buddy dedicated a song to her.
Buddy sat at his desk in a pool of sweat. He hoped Despie had heard the song, but he was afraid she would be mad at him for declaring the
"Hey, man." Richie sat on the bench next to him. "Why ain'tcha playin'?"
"I dunno." He shrugged. "Don't feel like it."
"Despie give you a bad time las' night?" Buddy smiled. If Richie only knew Buddy lost his cherry he would flip. Buddy himself was amazed that he wasn't shouting it from the rooftops. Sex wasn't anything like he thought it would be. It was a bitch. "Despie give you trouble?"
"Nah."
"How far you go?"
"Far enough."
"Don't wanna talk?"
"I guess not, man."
Richie shrugged and got up. "O.K., man, it's on you."
Sunday was always a drag. It was cold and windy. The few trees in Big Playground were leafless. Buddy still hadn't finished the report due Monday for social studies. He couldn't concentrate on anything but Despie. He walked across the basketball courts and through the hole in the fence to the street. Fishing in his pockets for a dime, he went into Pioneer's Candy Store and sat in a phone booth. He hated the panicky feeling in his gut. He had nothing to say, vet he had to talk to her.
The number was busy.
No one answered.
Wrong number.
No one answered.
No one answered.
Buddy left the candy store, his clothing soaked with nervous sweat. Everyone had left the playground. He went upstairs and tried to call Despie. Still no answer. He took out his loose-leaf, opened it to a clean page, and wrote
He took out the WYC-XAU volume of the
Home and Hearth Encyclopedia,
opened it to the XYZ Affair, and began copying verbatim. After every ten sentences he would get up and call Despie's number. She hated him. He bored her. She wasn't a virgin. She fucked Nazis and niggers before breakfast. His dick was too small. He loved her. She gave head to all the guys on Lester Avenue. Terror liked to shit in her mouth. When he was in the closet she laughed herself to sleep. She told her parents, and they all had a good laugh. Lenny Arkadian knew the inside of her cunt like the back of his hand. She was out fucking
right now.
He loved her. He did. He really did.
"Hello?"
"You're home."
"Who's this?"
"Buddy."
"Hi."
"Where were you?"
"I was at my uncle's house."
"What were you doing there?"
"Whadya mean what was I doing there? He's my uncle. We went to visit my uncle."
"Sorry."
"Buddy, is something wrong?"
"Nah."
"Look, I gotta go, my friends are waiting for me. Bye."
Before he could say goodbye, the phone clicked. His stomach frosted over. Friends. What friends? Boyfriends? Probably. But he'd be cool. The fastest way to lose a girl is to be possessive. What uncle? She didn't say anything to him before about an "uncle." Uncle my ass. Uncle Sam maybe. Fucking for the troops. Uncle Sam wants you.
That night Despie sat at her desk doing her homework and listening to the Scott Muni Show on the radio. She couldn't figure Buddy out. She liked him and maybe would like to go steady with him in time, but he acted so goddamn weird. Maybe they shouldn't have done it so soon. She wasn't sure he could handle it. Maybe after he calmed down a little they'd have a talk. On the radio a slow piano led into a song. "O.K., gang, this is a dedication from Buddy to Despie. Listen to the words. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles doin' it to ya."
I don't lak you, but ah luh-uv you,
Seems that I'm all-way-yays thinking uv you
Though-wo-wo you treat me badly,
I love you madly,
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
Despie sat in stunned silence. The words went in one ear and out the other. The phone started ringing, and in two hours Despie got calls from six girl friends. Despie didn't think about the words of the song. It could have been "Duke of Earl" or Beethoven—it didn't matter. The only things that mattered were that Scott Muni mentioned her name over the radio and Buddy dedicated a song to her.
Buddy sat at his desk in a pool of sweat. He hoped Despie had heard the song, but he was afraid she would be mad at him for declaring the
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