| “So where did you go to school?” “The school was in Minneapolis,” she said. “But don’t think it was some big art college with ivy and buildings with columns and graduation ceremonies where everyone enters to Elgar, okay? It was dinky.” “What’s Minneapolis like?” “Smaller. And colder.” She shifted down, leaned left to see if she could pass the Buick ahead. “Mm hmm. Ever go back?” “If they have class reunions, they don’t tell me. Hey – “ she swiveled her head around to the right. “If I read these billboards right Kemosabe we’re getting close to Columbus. You want to see a movie or something?” “Sure. You been to Columbus?” “No. A light?” She held out a cigarette. He took some matches she’d tossed on the dash. Jane drove like a man, he thought – most women he knew drove leaning forward, gripping the wheel like a life preserver. Well, his mother did, anyway. Jane leaned back, hands on the wheel at four and ten, like she was holding a bull by the horns. She was relaxed. Either she’d driven a lot or it came natural to her. She took the light leaning over, keeping her eyes on the road; she flicked her gaze up to the rear view mirror for a second, then leaned back in the seat. He put the matches in his pocket. “It’s the Capitol, I know that.” She exhaled. “Which means it probably has old woody bars with thick steaks and whiskey and dull old drunken goats sitting around trading favors. But they have to have a movie theater.” “I don’t see enough movies,” he said. “I like them, but – well, I just don’t go.” “Because you don’t like to go alone? You should get over that. It’s the best way to see them. Just you and the story and you don’t have to worry if your date is bored or waiting for the moment to grab your knee.” “Yeah, I hate when they do that.” She leaned over and squeezed his knee. “I’ll bet you do. We’ll drive downtown and get a paper and see what’s playing.” Half an hour later they were parked downtown outside a hotel; Joe ran for a paper. “Okay, great,” Jane said. She clicked on the dome light and paged through the paper. “Here. There’s ‘Picnic’ – I saw it, it’s okay. There’s . . . .’Rebel Without a Cause.’” “That’s supposed to be good.” “Well, I don’t like Jim Dean. I don’t know why some girls go for him or any other of these weepy boys with problems. Oh! This. ‘Girl in the Velvet Red Swing.’” “What’s that about?” “I read a story about it in a magazine at the beautician’s yesterday. It’s about a girl who gets mixed up with the arts crowd in New York City at the turn of the century, I think, and she has a famous lover who’s a great architect, and she’s the toast of society but no one really cares about her. Oh, don’t make that face. Look, there’s a man with a gun in the ad.” “Okay. Sounds fine.” They found the theater a few blocks away and parked. Jane took his arm as they walked, shivering: it had gotten cool since they’d left Cleveland. It’ll be after ten when this gets out, Joe thought; what then? Driving home, Jane sleeping, watching the white lines, smoking, content. Hell of a date. If nothing happens it’s still the best date of my life. Probably better if nothing does. She wanted Raisenettes and he bought two boxes. Old theater, red thick musty curtains on the wall. A dozen other patrons scattered around the cavernous interior. Noisy coming attractions. A Tom and Jerry – no one laughed. Ten minutes into the movie Jane squeezed his knee and gave him a mock scowl: well? He put his arm around her and she settled into his shoulder. Talk, talk, talk, lots of talk. An architect and his young lover. Scandal, a little leg, too much Ray Milland. He felt the coffee he’d had on the road state its case, and he withdrew his arm. “Excuse me,” he said. She nodded, watching the screen with wide eyes. In the rest room he lit a smoke from the matches he’d got from her car. Art Institute. Minneapolis. A correspondence school. What had she said? The school was in Minneapolis. Not I went to school in Minneapolis. The school was in Minneapolis. And then she’d changed the subject. So? Quitting a correspondence school is hardly like dropping out of college to pursue some mad crazy dream, but – So? So? He tossed the matchbook in the trash and looked at himself in the mirror. “What am I doing,” he said aloud. But he was smiling as he said it, which was all the answer he needed. “What did I miss?” he whispered when he returned to his seat. “Me,” she said. |
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