Gould by Stephen Dixon Read Free Book Online

want, although $200 would be fine and rock-bottom and quite fair. No matter what, papa is off the hook, even if he contributes zero. How’s that for gracious pardons, and I don’t mean the excusez-me kind. Best and much luck. Yours sincerely and honestly.” He thought why should he send her anything? It probably was some other guy who was responsible, or easily could have been. Sure, she was usually honest and direct to him, or seemed to be, but sometimes he didn’t think she was telling the truth. Even with the two homosexuals. He bets both those guys, or has a sneaky suspicion, were straight and she just said they weren’t  .     for what? So his ego wouldn’t be bruised, or something? Or so he wouldn’t feel he was one of four guys sticking it in her, and all the images that brings up, and maybe sometimes the four of them in a week, or five guys, even, or six—because how would he know for sure? As for the contribution, he didn’t know what to do. Maybe a hundred, or more like fifty, which was about what he could afford. Either would help out a little and shut her up—for sure a hundred would—and cut him off from her for good. Well, maybe, but a hundred the max. He sent nothing. He never heard from her again. About a year later he was at a friend’s apartment for dinner, a married couple, and while the woman was washing the dishes and he was drying them she said “You know, of course, that Lynette Taylor died,” and he said “What? What’re you saying? Lynette? The dancer?” and she was nodding and he said “But what do you mean? What could’ve happened?” and felt faint, at least his legs got weak, and he had to sit and was still holding the dish and towel and the woman took the dish out of his hand and said “Why are you so white? What’s wrong? You look sick,” and he said “Don’t you know?” and she said “Know what? That you went out with her a couple of times and more than likely shtupped her?—for she was a free bird if there ever was one. But what of it? So did a lot of men,” and he said “I went out with her for months; maybe a half year. Two to three times a week. She wanted to marry me. I was very close to her. She was pregnant with my baby once and had an abortion—a year ago, or sometime around that,” and she said “That I also didn’t know—Monty, come in here, Gould’s not feeling well,” and her husband came into the room and said “What’s wrong, your stomach?” and he said “Anna just told me Lynette, the dancer, died,” and Monty said “And you didn’t know? I thought everyone who knew her had at least heard about it. Overdose, at a party; got sick, went into the bedroom to rest and she never woke up. What, a month ago?” to Anna and she said “I think so; no more than that,” and Monty said to him “She wasn’t an addict; it might have been the first time she took the stuff. Cocaine with the booze, they said. But she just stopped breathing,” and Anna said “He took it so badly before I thought he was going to have a stroke himself. Did you know they were so close?” and Monty said “I knew they saw each other sometimes, and that Tim Rudd was pissed, someone said, because Gould took her away from him at a party—or something like that happened, anyway—but that’s about it,” and she said “That’s what I remember too, except for the Tim thing. Once at a party I saw Gould and Lynette, is all, though I don’t recall any incandescence between them, do you?” and Monty said “Never, which is why we’re both so surprised, Gould. What were you doing, hiding it?” and he said “What do you mean, because of her color?” and Monty said “Yes, if you want me to be honest about it,” and he said “But it’s not so;