Chapter 8
For some reason I did not understand, I could not accept Archie Table as Michelle Rivers' killer.
"I'm not saying he was," Crowder growled. "Yesterday I thought he was. Today I don't. Archie didn't jump from any bridge. He was killed. There's traces of semen inside him and-"
"Come on, Lieutenant," I interrupted. "One person choking to death on the stuff I can buy. But two?"
"You've never heard of modus operandi?"
"Balls."
"Okay, so strong fingers helped in Archie's case. He had the stuff inside him, all right. But there also are finger bruises on his throat."
"And?"
"Matt, I listened to a tape of your telephone call from this guy, Boswell. Why don't we have Polar?"
"Because I went after Boswell. Because Boswell could've been-still could belying through his friggin' teeth. Who's to say it wasn't Boswell and the girl, Boswell and Archie. Boswell is a homo, basically, but-"
"I checked the guy out, Sergeant. The name had a familiar ring. I know who he is now. He's a millionaire a couple of times over and there was a year when he wanted to be mayor of this city. He was defeated, but he's a big man politically."
"He's also queer," I repeated. "And a special friend of William Darby Rivers. He's at the Rivers house often. He's had sex with Rivers' daughter-the dead girl-and he's had sex with Rivers. He has probably mixed it up a bit with Tommy Polar and Archie Table, too."
"Christ, where have all the normal people gone?"
"We're living in changing times, Lieutenant."
"Goddammit, don't give me that crap! Make some sense for me!"
"I'm trying. Rivers and his crowd-which includes Boswell, Polar, and a mixture of others you won't believe, either-fancy themselves sex swingers. Hell, it's no fancy, it's a fact. They're like the Toda sect of India, they believe in total sexual freedom. Sex to them is like going to a ballgame. They can go to a ballgame every day. The game's the same, but every third day or so the players change."
He waved his arms and I repeated what Harold Boswell had told me about the night of Michelle Rivers' death, I told him about finding Boswell and William Darby Rivers in the shower, I emphasized Boswell's avowed dislike for Tommy Polar.
"So I'm living in a nuthouse world and don't know it," Crowder said when I had finished. "Okay, where's Boswell?"
He went out of his tree when I told him how Boswell had eluded me. He stomped and he raged. Finally he quieted. "If that son of a bitch goes off to South America or someplace, Law, I'll have your butt hanging from a public cross," he threatened. And then he went dictator on me. "Find Boswell," he snapped. "Find Polar. Bring me Rivers. Get me that whole goddamn crowd. Make like Matt Dillion. Bring 'em all in, single-handed. I'll find out which one of them has made a lethal weapon out of a penis!"
"Do you give a shit where I start?"
"Get out of here, you sarcastic bastard!" he roared. "Get me people!"
He blanched when I recited my resignation for him. And then a purple vein leaped alive in his head. I didn't want him to have a stroke; I merely wanted to resign. So I vamoosed. And outside I stood purring on a curb. I could return to Cora Ayers, take her hand, seek our private isle. I could cut alone, get lost in the mountain valleys of New Mexico, move in with a hippy clan-or a lonesome Indian widow. On the other hand, I could do as Crowder had suggested: bring in the entire Rivers tribe and help pick out a killer. What did it matter which one we selected? All we needed was peace of mind.
A little old lady walked up behind me. "Are you a policeman?" she asked.
"Do I look like a policeman?"
"You're standing outside police headquarters."
"So I am."
"Then you are a policeman," she said firmly. "I need assistance. I'm lost."
"Do you live in the city?" I asked politely. "I have for sixty-seven years, but I'm lost."
"And just where is it you want to go?"
"The zoo."
"We have two."
"I want the North American Zoo."
"It's just around the corner, ma'am. Right down there at that next intersection. You take a left. The North American Zoo is one black away."
"Well, thank you, young man. Do they charge admission?"
"They do not. It is a municipal zoo. For the enjoyment of the citizens."
"Is there a chance I might get raped in the zoo?"
"Ma'am?"
"I'm seventy-eight, but you never know these days. The world has gone zippy. Everything is zippers, and zippers are so easy to open. Is there a chance?"
"Are you hoping or-"
"I'm hoping. I may be seventy-eight, but I'm not dead, as you can plainly see!"
"Yes, yes. I can see that."
"Well?"
"I would say the possibilities of rape are extremely good-in the zoo."
"Now I think you are being a smart ass. And here I thought you were a nice policeman."
"Ma'am, you are verbally assaulting a police officer. You are using abusive language. I could arrest you.'"
"So make your only pinch of the day, why don't you? Bust me, cop."
I went off to make another arrest. I went off in search of a killer. Little old ladies are too easy. Pinch enough of them and you get a bad reputation. And, after all, police departments do have reputations to uphold.
I played smart detective again. I used the phone book and got an address for Archie Table. His apartment might have been any woman's. It was clean, frilly, and smelled of pine incense. The window panes sparkled and the curtains were drawn back and held with large red bows. Potted plants dotted the large front room and the furnishings were delicate. The kitchen was immaculate. Stove burners and pots gleamed, dishes looked as if they had just come from the automatic washer, and the silverware glistened. The bedroom was light, feminine and spotless while the bath was a mess.
A dirty brassiere was draped over the outer edge of the tub, nylon panties hung from the shower nozzle and a pair of black hose were draped from a towel rack. The towel was a heap on the tied floor, perfumed powder spilled around it. Lipstick stains dotted the washbowl and opened jars of creams and oils -lined a shelf. I looked for a soiled Kotex belt. It would not have surprised me to fine one.
The bedroom closet contained two pairs of men's tailored slacks, one expensive suit, three white shirts and two sports shirts, three pairs of polished men's shoes. No neckties. The remainder of the closet was stuffed with negligees, housecoats, dresses, women's slacks and see-through blouses. One bureau drawer contained men's underwear, socks and handkerchiefs. The other six drawers were filled with female lingerie and hose. I found two vibrators, one dildo-and a diary.
I broke the lock on the diary. The content was typically female. An account of life: the joys, the heartbreaks, the anxieties, the fears, the hopes, the promises, the day-by-day happenings recorded in simple words.
The final entry was a dandy. It said, "Tommy did a bad, bad thing tonight. Tommy choked Michelle with his penis. It was an accident, but it happened. And it happened while I was kissing him. Oh, sorrow, sorrow, sorrow. Michelle is dead and I am happy! Now she no longer will be taunting Tommy. He will be mine-if I can keep him away from William. My very own. That's why I took her away in my car. I had to rid Tommy of her. Totally. The only trouble is, I had an accident and now the police are harassing us. But it will pass. As all bad things pass. The policeman's name is Sergeant Matthew Law. He is a very attractive man. I'd like to go to bed with him. I think he has a very large penis. I saw it sticking against his pants front. It excited me. I hope Tommy never reads this. He will go back to William.
The entry revolted and angered. I was tempted to rip it from the diary. On the other hand, it was evidence. Even though it would make me the butt of laughter within the department for months to come. I cut with the diary and returned to Polar's place. But the building manager was firm this time. She said, "I will not open Mr. Polar's apartment again. Not after what you did to that girl. I never should have allowed her to go up there. Not with you there-you animal! You can bring sirens and red lights and ... and all those other things you threatened, but you can't go upstairs. Understand?"
"Is Polar up there?" I sighed.
"He is not."
"How 'bout Diane?"
"Who's she?"
"The girl."
"Well, certainly not. Not after what you did to her."
"And just what did I do to her, ma'am?"
"You ... you assaulted her, animal!"
"Which is like assaulting a female wrestler."
"She told me!"
"Flannel mouth, isn't she?"
"She went out of here with tears in her eyes, and she told me! I think I'm going to call the cops on you!"
"I am a cop, remember?"
"Animal!"
"You interested?"
"In what?"
"A little assault."
"I knew it! All cops are degenerates!"
"Just us young cops, ma'am."
I drove to the tennis club. No Polar. I felt like ripping out walls, but I managed, with effort, to control myself and drive out to Harold Boswell's joint. I looked around for a sports heap and got a Caddy and a Buick and a Lincoln. No sports buggy. I stuck a thumb against the tiny door button and kept it there. Nothing. Not even an Oriental doll named Flicka. I was tempted to throw rocks through window glass. Instead I wheeled out to the Rivers mansion and found a blast in progress. What else? After all, it was four o'clock in the afternoon-the day a dog, the evening a pup-and the sun was hot.
People seemed congregated at the swimming pool. I went over there and did not recognize a face, although there was one body that looked vaguely familiar. She was a large blonde girl in purple sunglasses and stretched out on one of the chaise lounges. She was smoking a small cigar and she looked totally relaxed in the sunshine, wearing only the top strip of a chartreuse bikini. Beside her, a bronzed young man in a tank suit lay propped on an elbow and conversing avidly while his fingers idly twirled her pubic hairs. The bottom chartreuse strip was draped across his thick thigh. No one paid any attention to them, but for just a second the lower half of the blonde girl startled me. I thought I recognized the tiny mole that dotted her smooth skin just above the guy's fingers.
Then I looked at her face. She was not an acquaintance.
"Hey!"
The demand came from the water and I saw Nanette Rivers hanging on the edge of the tile. Only her face, neck, and arms were exposed as she dangled by her elbows. She was grinning, and I did not see suit straps running across her shoulders.
"You must like our clambakes," she laughed. "You're getting to be a regular."
"Is Tommy Polar here?" I asked.
The grin disappeared for an instant. "What now?"
"Is he here?"
"I'll bet you want him because of Archie."
"How'd you know about him?"
"My, we're snappish. We own radios, pet. And television sets. Color, no less. Surprise, surprise?"
"Nothing is a surprise around here, doll," I said truthfully.
She hoisted herself out of the pool and sat on the edge with a wet plop. She was grinning at me again. This time over a shoulder. She was naked, a profiled breast arched as she squeezed water from her hair.
Across the pool, a flabby, gray-haired bull in gray swimming trunks waved at her. "Hi, Nanette. You're lookin' the same."
"Charlie," she called back in recognition.
"Haven't seen you in ... what? A month?"
"Seems like, Charlie."
The bull poked a finger at a petite brunette at his side. "You know Marie?"
"We've never met," said Nanette.
"Maire, Nanette," said Charlie.
"Hi, Nanette. Great scene."
"Marie's just back from Vietnam," said Charlie.
"I've been entertaining the troops," said Marie.
And Marie looked like she was capable of entertaining troops. She wore bell bottom trousers, no top. She had very exquisite breasts.
"You think Marie uses massage?" Nanette asked me.
"Goddammit, I want Polar!"
"Whatever for?" She went serious on me again. "The thing is pretty obvious now, isn't it? I mean, dear Michelle choked on Archie, he thought he could ride it out, but he couldn't, sp he blew his mind and jumped from a bridge."
"Polar," I repeated.
"Somewhere inside the house," she said sourly.
She plopped back into the water and stroked away from me. Her bare buttocks and legs worked viciously. It was as if she was disturbed.
There was a naked man sitting in the carpeting in the front room of the mansion. He was bobbing and his eyes were out of focus. He looked drunk as hell but there was a glass in each hand and he drank from one and then the other while the girl on her belly between his thighs didn't even bother to look up. She was clothed, but she was very busy-meticulously painting the guy's limp prick with red fingernail polish.
"Pardon me?" I tried.
I didn't register with the drunk dude, but the girl lifted eyes. She was very saucy, rosy in cheek and white in teeth. "Hey, are you the guy with the pot?" she asked. "I'm hungry as a fuckin' horse."
"I'm a cop."
"No shit? Man, this is a wild place!"
"First time here, doll?"
"My very first. It's goddamn zingy, ain't it?"
"You look like you should be in school."
"In the summertime? Come off it, man! Anyway, this here is Mr. Tombs. He's one of my teachers, one of my very favorites. His bag is sex education. Zingy, huh? You sure you ain't the guy with the pot?"
"I ain't," I managed. "How old are you, cat?"
She looked surprised. "Seventeen. How come you wanna know? Ain't you ever had a seventeen-year-old?" and then she looked crafty. "Dad, I bet you wouldn't stay soft if I painted you. Ain't Mr. Tombs zingy? Wantin' his thingy painted. But he says painted sex organs are the in thing now. Wild. He's gonna do my box in a little. You want me before or after?"
"What I really need is a telephone."
"You gonna pee in it or somethin'?"
"I'm gonna call an army," I told her truthfully.
"Wow! Fantastic! What a fuck! But tell somebody to bring the pot, huh? I was promised!"
I found a phone and I told Crowder to bring the entire goddamn police force. And then I went upstairs and looked for Tommy Polar.
I opened a bedroom door and got Hertha Clarke, but I didn't register with her. She was alone in the room, planted in the middle of the large bed. She was clothed but her knees were up high and her legs were spread wide and the dress was wrapped around her bare belly and she was very busy with an electric toothbrush that was plugged into a wall socket beside the bed. Her eyes were closed, her face was contorted in lust, and she didn't know I existed.
I tried another door and this time I got the huge Negro, Sim, and Mrs. Oshman. Both were naked and Mrs. Oshman sat spread-legged on the carpeting, facing me, while behind her Sim was pile driving as he poked a hole though Mrs. Oshman's upswept hairdo. Mrs. Oshman has streaks of white running down from her fore head, but she was as happy as a child at a circus. She licked gluttonously.
Sim snarled, "Bug, pig!"
I found Fran Nature, Diane Bowers, Kit, and an Oriental girl named Flicka in a vulva daisy chain circle on the carpeting of a third bedroom. No one looked up and said, "Hi."
I tried a fourth door.
Jackpot!
William Darby Rivers and Harold Boswell looked as if they had just stepped from a shower. Both were dripping water on the carpeting as Harold used a forearm to keep William Darby Rivers bent over the back of a chair while he worked furiously. Polar was on the bed. He wore a knit shirt, nothing else. The two young things servicing him were bare. They looked all of thirteen, but they were learning fast as he guided their tongues. They giggled and dipped and licked and giggled again and listened to Polar instructions and obeyed and giggled and kept moving around like exuberant ants. Off to my right was the open door of the bath. Bernard Oshman sat on the stool. Between his fat thighs was Peter Barry. Bernard Oshman was glassy-eyed.
I went outside the mansion and took a long pull of fresh air and smashed my fist against the trunk of a tree.
From somewhere behind me, Nanette Rivers laughed without humor. "I hope you broke your goddamn hand."
And it was only then that the realization settled on me. People were shrilling and mouthing oaths and running. Cops were grabbing and, in some cases, ridding wriggling people into the green grass. No one was riding the naked and angry Nanette although I think one of the two boys who flanked her wanted to. He looked half stiff as he kept a firm grip on her biceps.
Marie, the petite brunette, was carried past me. A cop waltzed with her ankles in hand, another peddled backward, his forearms hooked under her armpits and his meaty palms clamped to her breasts.
"And I thought entertaining troops in Vietnam was a ball!" she yelped, waving an empty glass at me.
A huge cop stumbled out of the mansion. He had the high school girl strapped against his front. She was facing him, her arms locked around his neck, her ankles entwined on his spine. His hands were out of sight, up under her skirt, as he carried her by her buttocks.
"It's the only way she'd go," he gasped when he recognized me.
"Don't apologize to me, pal," I managed. "Apologize to your wife."
"Zingy!" chortled the girl. "Whatta fuck!" Crowder and the cavalry had arrived.
The vein in Crowder's forehead was purple again and stuck out about three inches. "Quit lying to us, Polar!" he rasped. "We've got Archie's diary!"
Polar rasped back: "Goddammit, Lieutenant, I admit to what happened with Michelle! And I keep tellin' you, it was an accident! It could happen to anyone! But I didn't kill Archie! Why would I? He was my friend!"
"He was there when the girl died," Crowder shot at him.
"He was," Polar admitted.
"And later he threatened to turn you in to us."
"Bullshit!"
"So you choked him and tossed him into the river."
"Prove it."
"Abb, so now you admit it happened."
"I admit nothing. Except that Michelle Rivers was down on me and choked. Archie offered to take her off someplace and bury her. I let him. And then he had that goddamn accident, the stupid fool."
"Why did he threaten you, Polar? What did Archie want from you?"
"Nothing!"
."It must've been something big for you to kill him. You were with him last night, weren't you?"
"He left my place around midnight."
"He just got up from your bed and walked out, huh?"
"He was going home. We were both fatigued. We never in our lives slept together all night."
"Polar," I put in, pulling my eyes from the squad room window, "Michelle Rivers had some photographs. I've seen them," I lied. "We have them."
"And?"
"You and William Darby Rivers are in several of the pictures."
"Me with Rivers in several pictures? No way, man. Make it a couple, but-"
"Okay, maybe two or three."
"So make a federal case out of that. Call in the FBI."
"Rivers and Harold Boswell have a thing going."
"You've noticed."
"You and Archie had a thing going."
"We liked each other. How 'bout that jazz?"
"You and Rivers are in bed together in a couple of the photographs."
"Wrong. We are in bed in one of the pictures. We're in a shower in another. And we're in the swimming pool in the third."
"Okay, so I'm getting the photos mixed up."
"I don't think you've ever seen them, Sergeant," he smirked, "because I just lied to you. In the pictures Michelle had of us, Rivers and I are together on the floor of the living room. Boswell and Archie are in the background. They are angry. You can see the anger on their faces. They were angry because Rivers and I made them sit there and watch us. It was a goddamn riot-hearing them whimper their protests, but not daring to move from their chairs. The entire scene was just a little something Rivers and I cooked up one afternoon for kicks. We wanted to torment Boswell and Archie."
"Now it's all backfired on you, hasn't it, Polar? Boswell is singing like a bird."
"I told you that Michelle thing was an accident. No jury is gonna believe a guy can force himself down a girl's throat."
"Table was no accident."
"But I didn't kill him."
"Any suggestions who might have?"
"Maybe he ran into a fag on the way home from my place. Maybe he made a pickup someplace, the pickup popped his cork, I dunno."
"Archie was present when Michelle died. He was angry with you and jealous. He remembered you and Rivers. Now it was you and the girl. Except that suddenly the girl was dead. And abruptly Archie had you by the balls. He put the squeeze on you. He told you to walk straight with him from now on-or he would come to us."
"You're on grass, Sergeant."
"So you killed Archie. I think you were in bed together last night, playing your little games, and Archie brought up your future, got heavy with you. I think he outlined how it was going to be only you and him in the future so you let him finish you off and then you helped him to his grave by grabbing his throat."
"Then I took him out and pitched him into the river, huh?"
"That's the way I see it, okay."
"But will a jury see it that way?"
"We'll do our damnedest to convince them, you can bet on that."
"Sergeant?"
"Yeah?"
"Fuck you." I stood. "Polar?"
"Yeah?"
"Grit your teeth."
"What for?"
"This."
I brought my fist all the way up from the floor and under his jaw. His head flipped back, his jaws snapped shut, blood spurted from his trapped tongue, and in the next split second he and his chair were tumbling away from me.
Quiet had settled on the squad room again. The bedlam was finished. I sat slouched on a bench in a corner near a window. I felt relaxed and weary. I wanted to go to my apartment. I wondered if Cora was still waiting for me.
Crowder came out of his office. He was expressionless. He wiggled a finger at me. Sighing, I left the bench. Crowder said, "Polar is gonna live. I don't know why. Go home, Sergeant."
"Am I suspended?"
"You weren't even here tonight."
"I wasn't?"
"You were checkin' out a beef across town. A guy named Anderson called in a squeal. You investigated, found Anderson in a domestic beef with his wife. The wife had slashed at him with a butcher knife. But when you got there, everything was quiet between them. The address is 3939 Walker. Go fill out a report and file it-in case someone might want to look someday."
I almost grinned at Crowder. "And who is Anderson?"
"My cousin. File the report and get the hell out of here."
I went downstairs whistling. I skipped along and almost stopped at a phone to call Cora and tell her I was coming. Then I rounded a corner and stopped in my tracks. My little old lady friend from the afternoon was jawing with the uniformed desk sergeant.
"And what's your complaint tonight, Marjorie?" the desk sergeant asked patiently.
"Franklin O'Rielly, I've been raped," she puffed. "In the zoo."
"Raped, huh? That's pretty serious, Marjorie."
"Thirteen times he did it to me!"
"Wow, how come you're still walkin'?"
"My generation, Franklin O'Rielly, is made of stout stuff."
"I guess you're still tryin' to get your name in the papers, is that it, Marjorie?"
"Do you think the reporters will want to interview me? Maybe take my picture?"
I went on outside headquarters building and piled into my own heap, and I chuckled all the way to the apartment.
Cora was clothed. I stood and gaped at her. She giggled. "It's me, okay," she said. "I took a cab again and this time I returned with suitcases. Mind?"
She wore a simple housedress with white buttons halfway down her front. The dress hugged her breasts and hips, was flat across her belly. She had on hose and shoes, and there was a black headband holding back her blonde hair. The black-rimmed glasses sat straight across her nose, and her lips had been freshly painted.
"I even took a bath," she said. "Alone. What do you think?"
"Different," I admitted.
"But do you like?"
"I like."
"I decided you should see me this way, too. I decided it wasn't fair, you seeing me at my best all of the time. Naked, that is."
"Are you wearing anything under the dress?"
"Certainly. Bra, panties, garter belt, half slip. The works. And I dabbed perfume, too. Behind my ears, between my breasts, and-but the other spot is a secret between me and it. Are you intrigued?"
"Very intrigued, yes, ma'am."
"Ma'am, huh? I guess I bring out the politeness in you too."
"You're bringing out something, all right."
"Yes, I can see. But how 'bout a hamburger first?"
"You want to go to a restaurant?"
"Drive-in. I'm wild about French fries. French fries make me think of sex. I see them all piled up in those little baskets and I think of penises. I wonder how all of those little French fries would look if they suddenly got hard."
I took her to a drive-in. And she sat and wondered and giggled while I kissed her earlobe and neck muscles and felt between her legs. Then the pert little girl was returning to the car with our orders and Cora pushed me away with a minor protest. "Be decent. What do you think I am, wanton?"
"I'm wantin' a bunch, ma'am," I murmured as the pert little girl hooked our trays on the edge of the car window.
"So you can take me to a drive-in movie," said Cora. "After we eat"
I took her to a drive-in movie. I parked in the last row. My heap was the only car in the row. I brought her popcorn, I bought her a Coke, and then she sent me for a package of gum. When I returned to the car, she was grinning. "Good movie."
"Yeah? What's it about?"
"Cowboys and monsters."
"Who's gettin' whom?"
"Nobody's gettin' anything."
"Amen."
"Maybe that's because some people aren't trying."
"Shall we get into the back seat?"
"Let's."
Somewhere in the transfer she managed to slide out of her panties. She draped them across the back of the front seat, spread them. "You ever get into a wet bathing suit?"
"Once or twice."
"Hell, isn't it?"
"Hell."
"It's the same with wet panties."
"I've never had the occasion."
"So you don't excite as easily as I do. Aren't you going to take down your trousers?"
"A cop is never caught with his pants down, doll."
"So we play teenie-bopper, huh?"
"No tennie-bopper alive has had what you're gonna get."
"Promises, promises...."
And then she arched with my entry, and we remained high for a few seconds, allowing the organs to fit and mesh. Finally she lowered her hips to the seat and I shifted my cramped legs and feet and began to move.
"Know what, lover?" she whispered, her teeth picking at my earlobe. "You're making a believer out of me."
I kept my strokes long and slow. And she began to climb. Her knees came up high, bent, clamped, and her hips began to twitch and lift to me. She arched back her head, jammed it into a corner of the seat. Her throat was exposed and I twisted my head and fastened my teeth gently against her skin. She cried out, "Matthew, I'm coming!"
She was not alone.
A long time later, I attempted to lift myself from her, but her arms tightened and her thighs held. "Is the movie finished?" she whispered.
"How the hell do I know?"
"I don't hear any sound from the box in the window."
"Then it's finished."
"But I don't want to go home."
"Okay."
"Do you love me?"
"I love you."
"Say it."
"I just did."
"Say it again. Say, T love you, Cora.' "
"I love you, Cora."
"Mean it."
"I mean it."
"And I love you, Matthew Law. Will you marry me?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tonight. Now. This second."
"Okay. I'll marry you by god."
"God will be our minister, you mean?"
"God is our minister."
"Right here? Right this second?"
"This instant, baby."
"Matthew, I feel as if it's happening!"
"It is, doll."
"Oh, Matthew, I love you!"
"I love you, Cora."
"And I'm coming again."
"During our wedding?"
"I wonder if it's ever happened to anyone else?"
"Who cares?"
"I'm coming, Matt! I truly am! Oh...."
"Good, baby?"
"So very good...."
"Do you mind if I join you?"
"You are! I feel you!"
"Baby, you don't know...."
"Oh yes! I know! I know! That's it, Matthew baby! Flow in me. Flow...."
"You okay, honey?"
"I'm ... all right, Matthew."
"You went out."
"You know I do that. It isn't anything to worry about."
"But you went out so fast and hard this time."
"It isn't every night a girl gets married."
"Do you really feel that way, Cora? As if we are married? As if it happened right here in the back seat of a car at a drive-in movie?"
"It happened, Matthew. I feel that it happened. It may never have happened to anyone else, but it has happened to us."
"We're married."
"We're married."
"Without church and flowers and friends and-"
"It happened, Matthew."
"You know, I really think it did."
"You feel it too, don't you?"
"I honestly feel it, Cora."
"I love you."
"I love you."
"Hey!"
The guy who had jerked open the sedan door and now filled the opening looked four yards wide and six yards tall. He caught my ankle, jerked once, and then freed me and stepped back in surprise. "For Chrissake, adults!" he wheezed.
"You expected senior citizens?" I snarled.
"Pal," he managed, "the flick has been finished for an hour and a half. I just finished up with my book work and I came out here and I-"
"You're the manager," I said, leaving Cora and zipping up my trousers.
"I'm the manager," he admitted, still backing.
I left the sedan. I was as tall and as wide as he was and he didn't frighten me-especially on my wedding night.
"We just got married," I told him.
"Oh," he said, stopping the back-peddling. "You're ... you're on your honeymoon, huh?"
"No. We just got married. We haven't embarked on our honeymoon yet."
He was sincerely puzzled, no doubt. But he said, "I see."
"No you don't," I told him. "You don't see anything, friend. We just got married, right there in the back seat of my heap."
"Oh, Jesus," he wailed, "a cookie!"
He turned and ran.
Behind me, Cora asked, "What's the matter with him?"
"Conventional type," I mumbled. "I don't think he believed me when I told him we just got married."
"I hope he rams his head through a board fence."
"He's working on one, I think. He's standing over there, beating his head on something."
"Matthew?"
"Yeah?"
"He mentioned a honeymoon. I heard him."
"Yeah?"
She lay back, managed to get one foot up against the back window and the other foot hooked over the back of the front seat. "Well?"
Tell me, how many guys have been married and honeymooned in a drive-in theater lot?