Allan Stein by Matthew Stadler Read Free Book Online Page A

dedicated the yearbook to him, just as a kind of tribute." Herbert accepted his scotch from the waiter and handed me my gin. "I'm sure someone's already suggested it in this case, I mean, it's probably a fait acompli." Hank smiled at me.
    "I'm not on the yearbook staff," Dogan said, but Hank wasn't really listening to him.
    "My goodness, Professor Schmatza was surprised—and pleased, of course. It was a terrific surprise for everyone."
    "As it would be for me," I added. I clinked my glass to Herbert's, Hank's, and, with some prompting, Dogan's nearly full beer stein.

    "They're putting extra pages in for soccer, if we make it to finals." Dogan spoke only of what he knew, a habit that always charmed me.
    "The I Love Lucy expedition?" Herbert asked. Like Hank, he didn't seem to notice that the boy ever actually spoke. "Or was it The Lucy Show already?" He and Hank laughed at the joke.
    "What are you drinking?" Dogan asked me.
    "Gin. You wouldn't like it."
    "I don't like this beer. It's warm." I looked into the tall stein and saw a dark well of stout, rimmed with scummy foam.
    "What is it?"
    "It's called Guinness. Your friend said since I'm a soccer player I'd like it." How cosmopolitan the Grand Marble Bar was, serving Irish stout in a German stein to an underage Turk.
    "You don't have to drink it. Hank was just being friendly. He likes to buy things for his friends."
    "I remembered him from the football game. He's really nice."
    "Did he see you shopping?"
    "No. I saw him so I said hi."
    "That's very nice of you, and nice of Hank to invite you along to the bar."
    "He didn't invite me."
    "That's not just Guinness, you know," Hank pointed out, thinking I cared about the beer, "that's a Guinness triple-X. This bar's terrific. I haven't seen triple-X since Hattie and I took Noah to Dublin for the horse races."
    "He didn't invite you?"
    "I told him I was supposed to meet you, and he said you were in the bar."
    "You don't mind, do you?" Hank asked rhetorically, taking the boy's beer and lifting it up to my face. "Just look at that foam, thick enough to raise kids on. You could build a house with that foam."
    "It's remarkable, Hank." Turning to the boy: "Is that what you told your parents?"
    "Oh, no way." Dogan dismissed this lunacy. "They didn't see you. I told them I ran into a friend from soccer camp who was staying at the hotel. They think I'm staying overnight with him. They don't care."
    "You don't mind if Herbert tries it, do you? Go ahead, Herbie, after a sip of the scotch it's a real high-class boilermaker." Herbert sniffed the stein suspiciously and then tried it. I was surprised he seemed to like it.
    "Tastes kind of like oatmeal, Hank. I mean with dirt and alcohol in it. That's very nice, a very fine beer."
    "Well, that was kind of dumb," I whispered to Dogan. "Now you can't go home, plus there's no 'friend' here to stay with."
    The boy rolled his eyes, then just looked at me.
    So that now, to the delight of many of you and the horror of some, Dogan and I are going to spend the whole night together in the same bed (my bed, by the ill-paned window at home) for the last time, and in some detail. We'll have unskilled, enthusiastic sex, minimal but valued conversation, and a snack at what was probably three in the morning. Those of you who can't stomach any more of this sort of thing can skip ahead to page 47, where the narrative resumes.
    We shared a taxi home, Herbert, Dogan, and I. The boy insisted I make a ruse to Herbert about some book I was lending him, which I did, halfheartedly, and which sweet Herbert led the boy to believe he believed and also found unremarkable ("Oh, he mentioned that book to me just yesterday, didn't you now, and how it must be lent soon; how convenient for everyone; I hope I don't miss the eleven o'clock news"). Since the narrative hounds have all skipped forward anyway, I'll just dispense with the clumsy linkages and survey some of the highlights of that night.

    The slight weight of Dogan's