Honeymooners A Cautionary Tale (4 page)

Jim found Ralph in his
office, which was the end room of a wing the Crawfords often rented
out as a student apartment. Ralph was standing on a chair, shading
his eyes with his hands, his face pressed flat against the inner
wall of his office, and Jim could see only the back of Ralph’s
dark, woolly head. Jim leaned in the open doorway and took a sip
from a pint of the cheapest vodka. When Jim asked Ralph if he would
like a little drink, Ralph gasped and clutched his throat and
tumbled backward off the chair.

Oh Jesus, don’t do that!
Ralph wailed from the floor. —Don’t ever sneak up on a fella like
that. Jesus, I broke my arm! I did! Ralph whined and huddled on the
floor hugging his right arm. —I bet I broke it in two, maybe three
places.

Jim walked over to the wall,
picked up the chair, and stood on it to take a look himself. Jim
shaded his eyes and peered through the tiny hole drilled high on
the wall.

She’s not home right now,
Ralph said. —I was just checking. I really busted my arm. I’m not
fooling.

Is that same gorgeous blond
coed renting the place? Jim was curious to know.

You bet, Ralph
said.

You have any mix? Jim asked
Ralph, and stepped down from the chair.

I bet I could scare some up,
Ralph said, and pushed himself up off the floor. He was still
rubbing his arm. —In the kitchen. Tonic, juice, Coke, you name it.
You know, you shouldn’t come up on a fellow like that, old Jim. You
don’t know the harm you could cause. You about scared me to death.
I could have had a heart attack. Her boyfriend is a Vietnam vet. He
was a killer Ranger or Green Beret or something. He’s got these
evil tattoos.

One of these days you’re
going to deservedly eat hot lead, old Ralph. Or get sent up the
river.

Well, you’ll probably be my
cellmate. I didn’t drill that little hole in the wall, by the way.
I just happened to come across it. By accident. Somebody else
drilled that little hole. So don’t try to lay that one at my
doorstep. And I hardly ever take a peek, anyway. Really, I don’t.
Just now and then. Only when I absolutely have to. Only when I
think my life depends on it. But I’ve seen some things, let me tell
you.

Ralph rehung the framed Life
magazine-cover photograph of Ernest Hemingway over the tiny
hole.

Jim took a gander at the
sheet of paper in Ralph’s typewriter on his desk. He rolled it and
read.

Hey there, that’s nothing,
Ralph exclaimed, waving his paws at Jim. —I was just working on my
correspondence. I’m sucking up to some editor.

Doesn’t look like any letter
to some editor to me, Jim told Ralph. —What’s this
I-dream-of-sucking-your-breasts business?

There are editors with
breasts, Ralph said.

Come on, Ralph, tell me who
it’s to. I’d tell you, old dog.

Okay, Ralph said. —Okay.
It’s to my friend in Montana. The woman Buffalo Bill introduced me
to when I was up there. You know. Lindsay. She’s coming down for a
litde visit. Now you keep that quiet. I shouldn’t have told you
that. Boy, was I dumb to tell you that.

Don’t get so paranoid,
Ralph. Who in the fuck am I going to tell? Who cares, anyway?
Anyway, you can trust me. You know that. So, when is your squeeze
coming down?

Pretty soon, Ralph said. —If
we can get everything figured out. We’ll stay at the apartment in
Berkeley. I’m going to run off that kid I’ve been sharing the dump
with. That student. I promised him an A for his trouble. And he’ll
get it, too. I’m a fellow who keeps his word about such
matters.

Back in the kitchen Ralph
placed a carton of orange juice and a botde of tonic on the table.
Cats roamed about everywhere on the counters. They took turns
jumping in and out of the room through a tear at the bottom of the
screen door. Jim shooed a couple of the flea-infested creatures off
the table and placed the pint in its center and sat down
wearily.

What are Erin’s boys doing
here? Jim asked Ralph. —Where’s Alice Ann?

Who knows, Ralph said.
—Alice Ann and Erin are off somewhere. Erin dumped the twins on
me. Shopping, they said. That was hours ago. Maybe it was
yesterday. I can’t remember. They’re probably off in some hot tub
smoking dope. Erin has these hipper-than-thou friends. I can’t let
myself worry about it.

What time do you have,
Ralph? Jim asked.

Ralph looked at his watch
and then shook his wrist. —This sorry thing never keeps good
time.

At least you have a watch
that works. So what does it say?

About two o’clock. Which
means that’s only the ballpark. Give or take ten, fifteen minutes.
I don’t know. It could be a half hour off, for all I know. Why? Do
you have a heavy date or something?

I’ve got a doc appointment
at three. Get some ice, Ralph.

A doc appointment? Are you
okay? Is something wrong with you? Ralph said. He held an ice tray
under water at the sink.

I had an appointment set for
earlier today. For one o’clock. But things came up. Or things
didn’t come up is what I should say.

What? Ralph said, and shook
ice cubes from the tray into a bowl. —What in the world are you
talking about, old Jim?

They just happened to have a
cancellation at three. Lucky for me, I guess. If I don’t make it at
three, I’ll have to wait two weeks for another opening. I hate the
fucken medical profession.

Well, what’s wrong with you,
old Jim? Ralph put the bowl of ice cubes on the table. He emptied
the cold contents from a couple of coffee cups into the sink, then
rinsed them out and sat down. —You have a little dose of something?
You been sticking your thing in places you shouldn’t?

You’re the one to talk, you
dog, Jim told Ralph. Jim poured vodka over ice he put in one of the
cups and added a splash of orange juice. —Ralph, if I tell you, you
have to promise to keep quiet. You have to take this information to
your grave with you. I’d have to have your word of honor on it.
Which is pretty much a joke, I know. But this is really private
business.

Sure, old Jim, Ralph said.
He cocked his head and bent forward, his elbows almost to the
middle of the table. There was a slight squint in one eye, like a
man taking aim. —Mum’s the word, old Jim. Honest to God. What? What
is it, old Jim?

Ralph, I just can’t tell
you.

Jesus, old Jim, you have my
word on it. Hey, if you can’t tell me, who can you tell? Is it
really a dose of something? Something like that? I was just fooling
when I said that, but is that it? Who you been pumping, anyway, old
Jim?

I found this lump, Jim told
Ralph. —On my, you know, testicles.

Jesus, old Jim! Oh no! You
did? Really? That’s awful. That’s awful, old Jim. A lump, you say?
Hey, listen, it’s probably nothing at all. An infection. An ingrown
hair. Something like that. That’s my best bet. Hey, listen, what we
need is a real drink. Some good stuff, that’s the ticket. I’ve got
some good Scotch stashed in my bedroom closet. I hope I have,
anyway. If those damn thieving kids haven’t found it yet. What do
you think, old Jim?

That’s all right, Ralph.
This stuff is okay with me, Jim told him, and fixed another
drink.

Have you had any symptoms?
Ralph said. — You know, any of those seven warning signs. How big
is the lump?

About the size of a fucken
coconut. What warning signs?

A coconut? Holy moly, Jim!
Signs, you know. Like coughing.

I cough my head
off.

Moles that change shape or
color?

You want to see? Jim said
and began unbuttoning his shirt.

No! Ralph said. —No, that’s
all right. I’ll take your word about a thing like that. What about
weight loss? Any weight loss?

Can’t you tell?

So you’ve lost a few
pounds?

A few. So, old dog, your
little honey is hitting town.

Holy moly, Jim. Not so loud.
People could walk in the door any moment. The walls around this
place have ears, I’m here to tell you. I’m not kidding. There’s no
such thing as personal privacy around this place.

Do you love Alice Ann,
Ralph?

What? Ralph said. —Do I love
Alice Ann? Is that the question? What is that, some kind of trick
question? Do I love Alice Ann? Well, what do you think? Sure I love
her. Sure. She’s my wife of almost seventeen years, isn’t she?
We’ve got these two kids, haven’t we? Criminal children, true. But
they’re ours. Living proof, I guess. Of our enduring love, I
guess.

Do you love the lovely lady
in Montana, too, Ralph?

Holy moly, Ralph said. —I
don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. You’ve never heard me
claim I have all the answers, have you? Things just happen. You
know that. You know. A fellow can just get caught up in events.
Just swept along with the tide, as it were. Through no real fault
or design of his own. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.
Much less have any real sense of direction, or purpose, for that
matter. One sorry foot in front of the other is about the best I
can manage.

Ralph, do you tell the
lovely lady in Montana that you love her?

That’s not a word I, for
one, use lightly. Love is not a word I, for one, throw
around.

Is she a great piece of ass,
Ralph? Your lovely lady in Montana.

My lips are
sealed.

Does she bang like a screen
door, Ralph?

You better believe
it.

Does she go down like a
submarine, Ralph?

She doesn’t even come up for
air, Ralph said, and laughed.

You really are a romantic
rat, aren’t you, old Ralph?

I try.

On those special tender
occasions, Ralph, do you?

Do I what?

Do you tell her you love her
truly? That you love her more than your wife of nearly seventeen
years, who also happens to be the mother of your two criminal
children.

I already told you, love is
not a word I toss around.

Do you make her promises,
Ralph? At those tender times.

I never make promises, Ralph
said haughtily, that I can’t keep.

What about in your letters,
Ralph? Do you put it down in black and white? Do you write to her
about the nature of your everlasting true love?

Mostly, Ralph said, if it’s
any of your beeswax, I write about the weather.

The weather, Ralph? What
about that I-dream-of-sucking- your-breasts business, Ralph? Ralph,
does your lovely lady in Montana have those sort of magical breasts
that like great mountains create their own weather? Do those
wondrous breasts create their own rainstorms and springtimes and
months of summer?

1*11 say. She*s got these
breasts that won’t quit. Hey, you’ve been smoking dope already
today, haven’t you? I don’t suppose you have any joints on you, do
you? I don’t suppose you’d be inclined to share, would you? Alice
Ann and Erin put a big dent in my stash last night. And then those
criminal kids found what was left sometime this morning and cleaned
it out. I hardly got a pull off that last poke of dooby. So what
else is new.

So your girlfriend has a
pair of the world’s most amazing breasts, eh, Ralph? Poor old,
rotten, Running Dog Ralph, on the ropes of romance.

What’s a poor fellow to do?
Actually, I don’t write about the weather when I write to her.
Actually, I hardly even give the weather a second thought. Unless
I’m getting rained on or trying to light a cigarette in the wind.
Actually, the weather is just something I mostly try to stay out
of. Actually, if the truth be told, old Jim, I do tell Lindsay that
I, you know, love her. I do make promises that I have no idea if I
mean to keep. I do toss that word around, old Jim. That awful
four-letter word. Love. Old Jim, this is between you and me and the
four walls, but boy, I’m in a real pickle.

Romance, old Ralph, is a
fucken rat hole.

Hey, Ralph said, what does
this business have to do with lumps, anyway? We were discussing
your lump, the last I remember.

Love is like a lump,
Ralph.

That’s one for the
books.

Think about it,
Ralph.