extract from chapter 3
With business in the coffee shop lulling, Grave came around the counter and walked over to the booth where Roger Cook and Buggie Alstair were sitting.
"Hello, fellas," she said. "Sorry I kept you waiting, but you know how those guys are at noon."
"We just wanted Cokes," Roger Cook said.
"That’s what I thought, Roger," Grace said to him politely. "That’s why I waited until things had slowed up. How are you anyway, Roger?"
Roger smiled. He was nineteen. He’d finished his first year at the University. He was certainly a man in every physical sense, especially in his surprisingly baritone voice. And yet childhood – a fairly protected childhood, at that – was not so far behind that it was entirely easy to shed the self-consciousness of adolescence. It was a troublesome period when Roger himself was not quite certain every minute just which he was, man or boy; although here close to Grace, he felt all the emotions of a mature man.
"I’m fine, Grace," he said, and was glad that he’d lost much of his former shyness – but then who could remain shy after that first year as a pledge in the Sigma Beta house?
"And how are you," Grace said, "is it Buggie?"
"Buggie it is." Roger’s friend smiled confidently. "Just fine, Grace. How are things with you?"
"You know," Grace shrugged. "Same old thing."
"Sure," Buggie nodded sympathetically. "I know."
"Plain Cokes, fellas?" Grace asked.
"Just plain," Roger said.
As Grace walked away, Buggie studied her movement carefully, a half smile on his lips; and Roger also gave one long if more guarded examination. Then Buggie turned back to Roger.
"Now don’t tell me you’ve never fooled around with that, Rog?"
"Who said I haven’t?" Roger grinned. "Did I say that?"
"Well, have you?" Buggie asked. "How was it, man?"
Roger shrugged, still grinning. "How do you think it was? You’re looking straight at her."
He wasn’t kidding Buggie, he knew. He was not even intending to. But he was feeling good, enjoying talking this way, especially when Grace Amons was the chief topic. He’d never thought when he’d first pledged Sigma Beta and known Buggie only as the whip over the pledges, that he would ever enjoy being around Buggie. Yet everything was coming off just fine, and he was still a little proud that Buggie, who after all was a pretty big man on the campus, had come home with him.
Grace returned with their Cokes. "There you are, boys," she said, and walked away with the same generous movement.
Buggie, smiling and relaxed, pushed a coin into the jukebox selector on the wall beside him. The music of Shorty Rogers returned to the interior of the Willow Creek Hotel Coffee Shop. "I go that Rogers, man," Buggie said, "but I’m surprised to find his records in a burg like this. Some salesman must have had a good line."
"Yeah, well, we’re not such hicks, you know," Roger said. "And the man’s music has a good beat. He puts a kick in it."
"Real wild," Buggie said. "Did you ever see The Wild One, Rog?" He was drumming his fingers against the table.
"I didn’t see it," Roger said. "Was it good?"
"It was wild, man. It had Brando in it. One of his early movies. He rides a motorcycle. Real nowhere with anything but just getting his kicks. I think they used this Rogers to work on the music. Anyway, the music made everything right. My old man met him once at a party."
"He did?"
"Buggie nodded, growing more reflective, and for an instant Roger thought he saw a shadow going over Buggie’s eyes. But then, quickly, Buggie was smiling once again, eyes bright and alert. "Say, what was that guy’s name who was in here – that big guy with the shoulders and no neck. Looked like a damn pig."
"Willy Turner?" Roger asked.
"Willy Turner," Buggie repeated, shaking his head. "I’ll bet that boy’s real wild. Did you see his face when that cornball of a salesman over there tried to go to work on Grace?"
Roger nodded. "He’s kind of wild, all right. I mean, there were a lot of people around here a few years ago who thought maybe he wasn’t right or something, but he’s not so bad now."
"Why? What did he do?"
"Well, one time he cut this pregnant dog up."
"He what?"
"Doug Berry, he’s got a farm south of town, came up along the creek and found Willy and this dog Willy’d hung up by the legs. Willy’d cut the dog down the front and taken out the unborn pups and smashed them all against a tree trunk."
Buggie suddenly started laughing. "You’re kidding! He did that?"
"He did," Roger said.
"He said he just wanted to see what the pups looked like."
"My God, what a crazy sonofabitch. Real wild, man!"
Roger nodded reflectively. In a way, now, what Willy had done seemed crazy enough to be funny. But it wasn’t funny then. It was a long time ago, but Roger remembered well enough that he’d been pretty frightened of Willy in those days.
But those days were over. Everything was on a different level now. He had little to do with Willy, and Willy had little to do with him. Roger wanted things to stay that way.
"How about the rest of those people?" Buggie said. "How about the guy with the white hair? What’s his interest in this fair metropolis?"
"You mean George Cary? He publishes the Willow Creek Standard."
"The local crusader, huh?"
"I don’t know if you’d call him that," Roger said. "What would you crusade for in Willow Creek anyway?"
"Yeah," Buggie said, nodding, half smiling. "What the hell would you crusade for in Willow Creek anyway? Do you really like this town, Rog?"
"Like it?" Roger asked. "I don’t know. I never thought about it, I guess. You grow up in a place, you get attached to it. It’s not Hollywood, I’ll admit; but then," he added, grinning, "it’s got Grace Amons."
"Yeah," Buggie said, turning his eyes towards the counter.
"You know," he added, looking curiously at Roger, "I think you’re crapping me about ever having gotten close to that. I really do, Roger."
"What makes you think that, Buggie?" Roger asked.
"I might even go so far as to say I’m fairly damned certain that you’re a virgin, Rog, old man."
"Go to hell," Roger laughed.
"My God," Buggie said, "imagine staying a virgin with something like Grave living in the same town."
"It can be done," Roger said. "It isn’t just one big happy bedroom in Willow Creek, you know."
Buggie nodded faintly, his gaze returning once more to the activities of Grace behind the counter. "Now tell the truth, Roger. Have you tried? I mean, the honest-to-God truth. Have you?"
"Hell, yes," Roger said. "I told you. It wasn’t a try. I did it. Right in the middle of the lobby of the movie house. There were six people watching at the time. She beat me to the deck, as a matter of fact, and the word got to my folks, and we had a family celebration. They were crazy about me and Grace getting together that way!"
"All right. I’m serious. It could be done, you know."
"It has been, as a matter of fact." That was the truth, Roger knew; and so was his sarcasm when he’d intimated his family would be crazy about his getting together with Grace, especially his mother. All she had to do was look at Grace, and her day was ruined.
"Yeah, but not by you, old man." Buggie straightened suddenly. "Why don’t we try it?"
"Try it?" Roger asked.
"Why not? What have we got to lose?"
"Hell, that’s all I need. To get the word out that I’m fooling around with Grace."
"No, now look," Buggie said. "You don’t worry about that, do you?"
"My feelings don’t always represent those of my loving parents."
"Do you care that much about what they think, Roger?"
"It isn’t just that," Roger said. "Only this is a small town, Buggie. Things are different here. You can’t get away with certain things. Sometimes you may not even want to."
"Roger," Buggie said, smiling pleasantly, "I thought you were a big boy now."
"Knock it off, Buggie," Roger said irritatedly.
"So forget it," Buggie said, shrugging.
"Forget what? You talk about trying to make Grace, only that’s all we’ve done. Talking about it is different from doing it."
"All right," Buggie said, "do you want to try it?"
Roger hesitated, then said, "Sure. Okay. But I still don’t see any action."
"Well, you’re about to," Buggie said, but just then the salesman pushed his plate away, stood up and put on his straw hat.
"Well," Al Jackson said to Grace, "how about it, beautiful? How about you and me waking this burg up tonight?"
"I’d love to," Grace said, "but I’ve got to sit up with my poor mother."
"Yeah. Oh, sure," the salesman said, "only if you get bored, you know where to find me. Right here in the hotel."
"Gee," Grace said, "that’s just wonderful."
"Okay, beautiful. You’re missing the time of your life."
The salesman walked out, and Roger said, "He got a hell of a long way, didn’t he?"
"No class, no style," Buggie said, smiling. "Watch this, old man. This is how we do it at Hollywood and Vine. Oh, Grace . . ."