“She doesn’t respect me. She doesn’t even love me, for God’s sake. Basically—in the last analysis—I don’t love her any more, either. I don’t know. I do and I don’t. It varies. It fluctuates. Christ! Every time I get all set to put my foot down, we have dinner out, for some reason, and I meet her somewhere and she comes in with these goddam white gloves on or something. I don’t know. Or I start thinking about the first time we drove up to New Haven for the Princeton game. We had a flat right after we got off the Parkway, and it was cold as hell, and she held the flashlight while I fixed the goddam thing—You know what I mean. I don’t know. Or I start thinking about—Christ, it’s embarrassing—I start thinking about this goddam poem I sent her when we first started goin’ around together. `Rose my color is and white, Pretty mouth and green my eyes.’ Christ, it’s embarrassing—it used to remind me of her. She doesn’t have green eyes—she has eyes like goddam sea shells, for Chrissake—but it reminded me anyway … I don’t know. What’s the usea talking? I’m losing my mind. Hang up on me, why don’t you? I mean it.”
The gray-haired man cleared his throat and said, “I have no intention of hanging up on you, Arthur. There’s just one—”
“She bought me a suit once. With her own money. I tell you about that?”
“No, I—”
“She just went into I think Tripler’s and bought it. I didn’t even go with her. I mean she has some goddam nice traits. The funny thing was it wasn’t a bad fit. I just had to have it taken in a little bit around the seat—the pants—and the length. I mean she has some goddam nice traits.”
The gray-haired man listened another moment.
Then, abruptly, he turned toward the girl. The look he gave her, though only glancing, fully informed her what was suddenly going on at the other end of the phone. “Now, Arthur. Listen. That isn’t going to do any good,” he said into the phone. “That isn’t going to do any good. I mean it. Now, listen. I say this in all sincerity. Willya get undressed and get in bed, like a good guy? And relax? Joanie’ll probably be there in about two minutes. You don’t want her to see you like that, do ya? The bloody Ellenbogens’ll probably barge in with her. You don’t want the whole bunch of ‘em to see you like that, do ya?” He listened. “Arthur? You hear me?”
“God, I’m keeping you awake all night. Everything I do, I—”
“You’re not keeping me awake all night,” the grayhaired man said. “Don’t even think of that. I’ve already told you, I’ve been averaging about four hours’ sleep a night. What I would like to do, though, if it’s at all humanly possible, I’d like to help you, boy.” He listened. “Arthur? You there?”
“Yeah. I’m here. Listen. I’ve kept you awake all night anyway. Could I come over to your place for a drink? Wouldja mind?”