The Temple of Gold by William Goldman Read Free Book Online

who.”
    “Well, if you’re Euripides,” Zock said. “Why aren’t you rich?”
    “Maybe I am,” I told him. “Maybe I’m the richest guy in the world. Maybe I’m so rich I can’t stand it.”
    “I don’t believe you,” Zock said.
    “It’s the truth,” I said. “I am so rich I can’t stand it. Do you know what I blow my nose on?”
    “Ten-dollar bills?” I shook my head. “Twenty-dollar bills?”
    “Wrong.”
    “What, then?”
    “My shirtsleeves,” I said. Which I still think, considering the conditions and all, was pretty funny. But not so funny that you’d fall off your chair laughing at it. I did, though. I hit the floor and stayed there, waving that empty bottle.
    “Rise,” Zock said.
    “I could if I wanted to,” I said. “I just don’t want to.”
    “Here,” Zock said. “I’ll help.”
    Well, he tried. That much you have to say for him. He did try. He even made it out of his chair. But crossing the floor beat him and he fell down on top of me.
    “That’s a helluva thing to do,” I told him. “Falling on one of your own guests.” We rested there awhile, our heads spinning around. Then Zock spoke up.
    “You know what, Euripides?” he said. “I think we made it.” Which was the truth. For if ever two people were drunk, it was us.
    “What’ll we do now?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” he answered. “Something.”
    “Great idea,” I told him and we tried getting up. Neither of us could, alone, but together we somehow managed to make it and stagger out of the house into the street.
    “Well,” I said when we got there. “What now?” He didn’t answer me right away so I waved my hand in front of his face. “What now?” I said again. “Answer my question.”
    He waved his hand in front of my face. “Beats me,” he said.
    “Well, you sure aren’t very bright. Nothing but a moron.”
    “I was about to say the same of you.”
    We were both about to say a lot more when suddenly somebody had us by the shoulders and there was a policeman. Not smiling.
    “Good evening to you, officer,” I said.
    “What’s the fight about?” he asked.
    “Fight?” I said, really confused.
    “I saw you,” he said. “And if you don’t stop, I’ll have to take the both of you in.”
    “But we weren’t fighting,” I insisted.
    “All right,” he sighed.
    “Absurd, officer, absurd!” Zock broke in strong. “We are the best of friends.”
    “Then go home,” he told us, letting go. We started back for the house but I don’t think Jesse Owens could have made it, because we hadn’t taken more than a step or two when he grabbed us again and herded us into his police car.
    The trip down wasn’t too eventful except that I managed to throw up all over the back seat, which didn’t strike him very funny. Zock and I laughed though, all the way there. At the station it got pretty confusing. The man behind the desk kept asking us our names and Zock kept asking him what he wanted to know for, since it wasn’t any of his business.
    “Please, boys,” he said over and over. “Please. Co-operate.”
    “Absurd,” Zock said over and over. “We are the best of friends.”
    Then he began standing on his rights as a citizen and finally he started quoting poetry while I tossed in a couple baseball statistics I had handy.
    The upshot of it all was that we spent the night in jail.
    Which, as I said earlier, made my reputation. Because, when we finally did get back to school, we were famous. Zock preferred not to capitalize on it and wouldn’t even answer any questions. So everybody came to me and the more I told the story, the better it got. And in less time than it takes to tell, I was the school character. I was voted class clown when I graduated and it can all be traced back to that warm April night when Zock and I got drunk, both for the very first time.
    So our gang became the most talked about in the school, even though we were only freshmen, and got the reputation of being the