Rock Island Line by David Rhodes (i am reading a book TXT) 📕

and continued to the table of the man who had just come in and was waiting for someone to take his order.

“I’m sorry,” the cook said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” The man rose halfway out of his booth, but sat back down. Then he looked over at Carroll and let his gaze pinch together in some of the deepest hatred July had ever seen, got up and left. Throughout all of this Carroll had never looked over, or quit talking or eating.

“Tell me, what plans do you have—I mean, what would you like to be?”

July took time to think, not daring to say what he really wanted was to be the kind of guy who had a girlfriend. “I’d like to be a card dealer or a pool hustler.”

“Those guys are nothing. Believe me, they’re nothing. They look good, I know, lying back and being smooth and betting bluffs and running forty balls. But next week they come shining up to you for two bits. I tell you, they’re nothing. Most of them are hooked on drugs, they drink Thunderbird wine for breakfast and are in terrible health—which reminds me, though I don’t suppose you care, those cigarettes of yours will stunt your growth. You’d better give them up.”

“I might be a writer,” said July.

“Forget it, they don’t make any money—one in a thousand, and then it gets eaten up by lawyers and agents who cheat them. I had a cousin who wrote a book once and it ruined his life. Do you want something more?”

“No, I’m fine,” said July.

“How about the cat?”

“He’s fine too, thanks.” Butch had jumped up and was sitting next to July, preening himself.

“I’ll tell you what—you come to work for me. You’re a little young, but I think I could use you. It won’t be easy. The—”

“No, I don’t think I better do that.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to push you. But you owe it to yourself to think it over. So think it over. It might turn out to be an experience you could use later, even if you decide to have no part of the furniture business.”

“No. I don’t think I’ll want to.”

“Like I said,” said Carroll, getting up from the booth, “think it over. Remember, you won’t want to be as old as I am selling papers. And without an education—face it, July, you’re sunk.” On this note, he left, leaving his usual $5.00 on the table. July watched his blue Cadillac move off into the traffic. He hurried to pick up Butch and went outside, knowing that without Carroll there with him it was only a matter of moments before someone would come over and tell him to get the cat out.

He went to a movie that afternoon and sat through it twice. When he stood up to leave he realized that he’d not really seenit at all, but had been sitting there in a daze, occupied with thoughts and visions of being an old man selling newspapers and having a girl down in his room.

Walking out of the theater, he decided never to eat breakfast ever again with Franklin Carroll, and denied that he admired him or liked him or even thought he was worth knowing. He wants, me to be ashamed of what I have . . . and he wants me to be ashamed because it will be obvious then that he’s better. He’s a slob. Besides, what does he care about me?

That night he bought a dime bag of ice and drank a glass of orange-flavored vodka. Staggering carefully about the streets, he felt himself to have the world by a shoestring. He went into a second-story pool hall and played pool until he’d lost all the money he had with him, then he stopped over at the penny arcade and talked with some boys he knew there and played pin-ball. A group of Negroes came in and a fight started. He and Willie O. got one of them and were hitting him when the police arrived. Everybody ran. Tables were turned over in an effort to keep away from the nightsticks. July and some of his friends got away and ran down the street. The police cornered and put handcuffs on all of the blacks but one who’d gone through a window to get away, and threw them into the wagon along with Willie O. and one other white boy July didn’t know.

That night he felt lonely and fell asleep with his radio playing into his ear through a little wire.

EIGHT

One morning July found himself in a situation he couldn’t believe—one of those circumstances that prove to be, by virtue of the great luck involved, both exhilarating and perturbing (for fear that what appears to be true cannot possibly be). He’d gone into a small restaurant and been fortunate enough to find a place to sit down. This establishment was immensely popular because of its low cost and reasonably fair meals. He ordered coffee and two sweet rolls, and put a newspaper on the counter—a gift to the management. The room was jammed with people. The tables were doubled up, with strangers sitting together, though in most cases neither talking nor looking at each other. The two waitresses were nearly running under the nervous, austere gaze of the man behind the cash register. Then it happened. The man sitting on the stool beside July got up abruptly, threw down a quarter and left. With vague interest, through the mirror behind the glass racks, July watched the man’s reversed image navigating toward the door. He moved aside and allowed to enter what July was sure was the best-looking girl he’d ever seen. His heart got excited, and he looked wildly about the room. Could it be true that the only place to sit was beside him? He didn’t believe it. He watched her looking around, then, after apparently making up her mind, come straight toward him. His heart leaped,