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

among others, of her roommate making a mockery of him pantingon the phone. “But I would like to call you again, do you think that would be all right?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

“And do you think we could go out again?”

“Why not? But why not come up now?”

“No, I’ve got to be going . . . but when should I call?”

“When? Any time you feel like.”

“I mean, when are you most likely to be there?”

“Any time except when I’m working. I work—”

“I know, from noon till six on Wednesday, eight till four-thirty on Thursday and eight till four thirty on Friday.” He smiled sheepishly. “But I mean when’re you most likely to be there . . . and answer the phone?”

“Oh,” said Mal, realizing what was on his mind, but with the discretion not to let him know. “Usually in the evening, between seven thirty and eleven.”

“OK. Well, goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

The door swung shut, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. Then the dark thoughts from the day descended on him and he carried them home in a brown paper bag. Back in his room with Butch, he was so anxious that he returned to a childhood magic he’d devised. He drew a glass of water full to the very top, set it on the table, sat down and said, “Bloodroot,” out loud into it. Then picking it up in both hands, being careful not to spill because that would break the spell, brought it to his mouth and drank it all the way down, drinking the word into himself. This done, he would be safe from any tricks of destiny until he heard someone say that word, letting the evil forces loose. He tried to smile at himself because it was such an immature thing to do, but ended up repeating the whole ritual with the word “Glory,” which was a more normal word, and if the risk was greater, so was the protection.

“So what was he like?” asked Carol, leaning out from their little kitchen alcove when Mal came in.

“He’s very nice. But he’s very unique. He’s so quiet.”

“You mean he doesn’t talk?” Carol asked, coming into the living room.

“Well, he talks sort of. But I don’t think I know any more about him than I did yesterday. I mean you ask him something about himself and he just kind of doesn’t answer. And he looks so serious much of the time. But, boy, he’s got a nice smile.”

“What else?”

“He’s pretty shy. But then at the same time I feel so comfortable with him.”

“Did he . . . try anything?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just nothing. I don’t know anything more about him than I did.”

The phone rang and Mal answered it.

“Hello, is Mal there?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

“Oh hi,” said July, immediately regaining his natural voice. “I thought that was you, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“You only left here a few minutes ago.”

“I know, but I sort of wanted to call. I’m not bothering anything, am I?”

“No.”

“See, I was wondering if . . . well, if you had a nice time today.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I thought you could tell that.”

“Well, I thought so, but when I got to thinking about it I wasn’t so sure. I must seem like such a fool to you.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry if I do.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know it. Say, I’ll call you back later, huh?”

“You’re acting pretty strange this afternoon. Have you been drinking?”

“No.” Laugh. Pause. “I’ll call back. Are you going to be home tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good . . . Say, I don’t suppose you want to go to a movie tonight.”

“Why didn’t you ask me earlier this afternoon?”

“I knew you’d probably have something else planned. Never mind. I’ll call back some time when—”

“No, I don’t have anything planned and I’d love to go to a movie with you.”

“You would?”

“You’re going to make me mad.”

“I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. When do you want to go? What movie do you want to see?”

That night when he’d rung the bell and the door opened moments later, she was wearing a different outfit with a brown coat that came almost to her knees, stockings shining, bright black shoes, and once again the freshness of her spirit nearly knocked him over. She seemed so clean, her clothes, her smell, her hair, teeth, everything about her—the way she treated him and the gay world she lived in—all of it was so exciting and foreign to him that he was almost afraid. It was a world that had never existed for him, but that now was held before him like a carrot before the mule, and each step forward was making more of a fool of him. But sometimes he thought he could trust her and in those times he was the most afraid of all because it was as if the carrot were handed to him as a gift, and his image of himself was one which took nothing from anybody.

They watched a western, and once, at a suspenseful scene, just where a rattlesnake darted out from the rock, Mal squeezed hisforearm in a moment of uncontrollable surprise, and he nearly fainted. At a very well-lit place just before the end she burst into a short little laugh and whispered: “You have on red socks.” July was completely stunned and thought nervously throughout the rest of the movie, What could be so funny, or wrong, with that?

This time, when they returned to her apartment building, she didn’t ask him up, which relieved him at first but on his walk home he began to wonder about it, and wondered if it was OK to be in a girl’s apartment in the daytime but not at night, or if there was some other reason.

Five days later. “Hello, is Mal there?”

“This is she.”

“This is July Montgomery.”

“Oh hi. Say, hold on a minute, will you?”

“Sure.” He heard the clunk of the phone being put down and he stopped breathing as he listened for her folding into the arms of some man standing