23

The moment Marcus awoke the next morning he thought of what had happened—Oh, Wendy!—and he shouted with joy.

Outside his window the sparrows squabbled, traffic hummed, the world was waiting for him. He was up and out of bed, washed and dressed, not stopping for breakfast, banging down the stairs, bike on his shoulder. He wore an open-collared shirt, and a blue and white checked bandanna loosely knotted around his neck.

The bike purred along the road. Traffic was still light. He sniffed the fumes, a bracing smell of gas and oil. “Good morning,” he said to a man who looked still half-asleep, dreaming about the her that he dreamed about. Marcus was on to everyone now. He’d found the key to the world’s great secret. Everywhere people were doing it. Oh, joy!

He slowed to allow a young woman to cross in front of him. She hesitated, then stepped out quickly. Her feet in little blue and white sneakers seemed adorable to him. Don’t be afraid of me, lovely lady. You can depend on Marcus.

Racing along with the cars, he felt comradely, friendly, a man among men. Yesterday he’d just been a kid with his tongue hanging out, but today, today, I am a man!

Wendy, wearing green Army fatigues, answered the door. “Marcus?” Why was she surprised to see him? “You’re early. I’m still eating breakfast.” She held up a spoon.

“I haven’t eaten yet. I thought we could grab something together.” Was that too raunchy? She was somehow different than he’d expected. Did she remember? She seemed so separate, cool, and distant, as if they’d just met.

Inside there was a dark pungent smell of coffee. Wendy’s uncle in his white uniform was at the stove pouring himself a cup. He glanced at Marcus’s bandana. “What’s that? You got a sore throat?”

“Cornflakes?” Wendy said. “Milk, bananas? Your basic American breakfast. Help yourself, Marcus.”

He was hungry, but uncomfortable with her uncle. The man’s glance was keen, as if he’d guessed what Marcus was celebrating with the checked kerchief. “I’ll wait for you outside, Wendy. Okay if I leave my bike here today?”

“Put it in the garage,” Uncle Doug said, “so the kids don’t play with it.”

In the back the old apple tree was covered with fragrant blossoms. Marcus broke off a sprig.

“Isn’t the tree beautiful?” Wendy propped her lunch and notebook between her knees and tied her hair back with a green kerchief.

He handed her the sprig of flowers. She wedged them into her notebook. “Let’s go,” she said.

He had expected more: deep lingering looks, a passionate kiss. “I haven’t eaten yet,” he said a little forlornly.

“You idiot, why didn’t you eat when I asked you to?”

“Your uncle spooks me. You want to stop and get something?”

She looked at her watch. “We don’t want to be late. Here, take my lunch.”

He ate an egg salad sandwich and a banana. “I’ll leave you the apple.”

“No, eat it. I don’t care. I’ll buy something in school.”

“Let me pay, then.”

“Oh, forget it, what is it, a dollar? You paid for me lots of times.”

He crumbled the empty bag and dropped it into a can. “Did you forget?” he said. Their eyes met.

“That’s all I’ve been thinking about,” she said. “I never thought I would feel this way. Isn’t it funny, Marcus: here we are, the same people we were yesterday, but it’s different. Do you feel it, too?”

“Yes,” he said. “I feel different, the same but different.”

“I thought I would feel good. You know, it’s over with, I did it, hooray, and all that. But—” She linked arms with him. “I keep getting these weird, possessive thoughts. Like, he’s mine, mine, mine!”

He smiled. “It’s all right with me.”

“Not with me. I don’t want to own anyone. Just because we—No, I really didn’t think it would be this way.”

They held hands, lingering outside school, reluctant to separate. “You’re right,” he said, “people shouldn’t belong to each other.”

“Some people just hang on for dear life,” Wendy said. “They make each other their security blankets. Some of the kids around school, the way they go around draped over each other, you’d need a crowbar to pry them apart.” The bell rang.

“See you lunchtime,” Marcus said.

“I can’t. We’re going on a botany field trip to Baltimore Woods.”

“You mean I won’t see you today?” He couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice.

“I’ll stop by your house after school.”

They separated near the gym. “Don’t forget,” he said, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Lunchtime, outside, he moved languidly, the way he’d been moving all morning. No more speeding places, no more nervous gestures, no more yapping and jerking around every second. The new smooth Marcus, laid back, swinging his shoulders, free and easy. He smiled at several girls, really met their eyes.

In the shade, in front of the school, he sat on the railing with Pfeff, Gordy, and Alec. It was so hot everyone was out. Pfeff lit a cigar and Gordy sniffed appreciatively. “Umm, what we have here is the aroma of a fine panatella, a rich, earthy smell.”

Pfeff held the cigar out. “That’s not what it smells like.”

“Don’t say any more,” Gordy warned, “or you will be expelled for poor English usage.” Marcus’s eyes followed the girls in brief shorts and tops going slowly past. Was he being disloyal to Wendy looking at other girls? Was she looking at guys the way he was looking at these girls? He didn’t think he’d like it if she was.

Pfeff and Gordy were counting who had a bra on and who didn’t.

“Bra,” Pfeff said.

“Bouncer,” Gordy said.

Marcus turned to Alec. “How’s Terri these days? Don’t hear you talk about her much.”

“She’s gone to California, to see her father.”

“You’re all alone. That’s sad.”

Alec shrugged. “She’ll be back this summer.”

“I’m thinking of traveling this summer.” Marcus reknotted the scarf around his neck. “Going up to Canada, to Algonquin Park, or maybe out west.”

“Hey, Marc, I’ll go with you.” Pfeff talked around his cigar.

“Not if you smoke those things. I’ve got my partner anyway. A lot better looking than you.”

“You’re going to travel with a girl?” Pfeff spit. “Horse-balls, right? Who is she? You don’t have a girl.”

Marcus sat back. Alec was listening. “It’s still in the early planning stages.”

“That means you haven’t even talked to her?” Pfeff said.

“Oh, we’re talking, all right.” He knocked his pipe out on the railing, then stood up. “Lots of talk.” He clapped Alec on the back. “See you guys. I’ve got a busy afternoon.”

It was hot in the house, airless. He stripped down to his shorts and sat by the open window with his notebook. Idly he titled the Isabel story, “A Dumbbell Like You.”

Later he moved one of his mother’s big plants from the living room to his room. If Wendy came too late, nothing would happen. He was practical and dreamy, and full of plans. When she came in he’d catch her in his arms, carry her to the bed, and then …? He couldn’t imagine how they’d managed it; the whole thing now seemed extraordinary. This bed. In this very bed! He thought of all the places he’d heard or read about people doing it: the kitchen table, in the bathtub, in elevators, on roofs, even in airplanes.

The bell rang. “Hello.” Wendy’s face was flushed, her shirt out. There was a dandelion tangled in her hair.

“Inside all this time! How can you stand it? It’s so gorgeous out.” She handed him a blue-jay feather. “I’ve got to have something to drink.”

In the kitchen he poured her a glass of milk and told her the Isabel story. “Poor Marcus, I would never have been so cruel.” She leaned her cheek against his.

He put his arm around her. “Story time is over.” He looked into her eyes. “What do you want to do now?” I want to go to bed with you.

She fanned her face. “It’s so close in here.”

“How’s it outside?” he said. Let’s take off our clothes.

“Oh, not bad. Want to go out?”

“Do you?” We could take a shower together.

“Maybe we could find someplace cool.”

“Let’s try the roof,” he said.

On the roof, heat beat up from the tar. The light was blinding. A line of clothes snapped in the wind. It looked like the worst place to escape from the heat, but on the shaded side of the elevator shaft it was cooler. And there, as if it were waiting for them, was a faded old mattress.

“Look what some kind person has left us,” Marcus said. He stooped down and felt it. “Dry too.”

“I don’t believe this,” Wendy said. “Where did it come from?”

“Got me, but aren’t you glad?”

“You knew it was here all the time.”

“I’m as surprised as you.” He fell on the mattress. “Comfortable, though. Try it. The breeze is great here.”

Wendy sat down next to him. “Is this where you bring all your girls?”

He tickled her neck. “A dumbbell like me?”

“Funny, Rosenbloom.”

He leaned toward her, and they kissed. “How come you’re smiling so much?” she said.

They kissed again. “I hope nobody comes up here,” Wendy said.

“I’m listening. My bat ears will hear them coming six flights down. We are alone.”

“We’d better be.” She half rolled on top of him, kissed him on the mouth, then rolled herself all over him.

Afterward he remembered the snapping sheets, and the smell of tar and clean laundry, and the musty mattress, and how sticky they were.