The Temple of Gold by William Goldman Read Free Book Online Page A

wildest, which we weren’t. I really basked in glory that spring and summer and early fall. Time went zipping by, one day much like the next, and the only thing I remember plain was what happened that summer afternoon.
    I was out in the back yard throwing rocks at the big trees on the far side of the ravine, connecting three times out of four, which is better than most can do. Zock came over and stood around awhile, watching.
    “If only there was some way of making money out of this,” I said, “I’d be rich.” He didn’t answer but just stood there, watching me throw, listening to the thud of the rocks as they lambasted those tree trunks.
    “Don’t be shy,” I said. “I’m really nice enough, once you get to know me.”
    He cleared his throat. I waited. Then he started talking. “This isn’t my idea,” he began. “I want you to know that my mother put me up to it. But the thing is, you’re supposed to come to a party at my house a week from Sunday. Two in the afternoon. And wear a necktie.”
    “Ridiculous,” I answered, hitting a big oak across the ravine. “I won’t come.”
    “My mother may never get over it,” Zock said. And then: “What if we forget about the necktie?”
    “I might,” I told him. “You going to be there?”
    “Unfortunately, yes.”
    “If you can take it,” I said. “Then so can I.”
    “Fine.” Zock laughed. “You just won me a double allowance.”
    “What’s the party for?”
    “My cousin Sadie,” he answered. “She’s getting married.” I didn’t say anything. “To some yokel from Michigan Law School,” he went on. “She’s getting married in three weeks. And you will come?”
    “Naturally,” I said, throwing a handful of rocks all at once. “I’ll be there.”
    Naturally, I wasn’t. I decided it that afternoon out by the ravine where I stayed, throwing rocks, until dusk set in. At dinner my mother gabbed about the party, since she and my father were invited too, and what should I wear and did I have a summer jacket that looked decent? I went along with her, nodding when she said what a wonderful party it was going to be and wasn’t I lucky to get an invitation. There was no point in telling her then. So I waited.
    Until the day before. That afternoon I ran around, getting red and sweaty, after which I dashed home and told her I didn’t feel so well. She bit, felt my forehead, told me to go right up to bed. I grumbled, as was expected, but wild horses couldn’t have kept me from the sack right then. I moaned a lot during the evening and listened to the White Sox on the radio. When it was time for sleep she gave me a couple aspirin and turned out the light.
    “You’ve got to be all right for tomorrow, Raymond,” she said. “It’s not every day you get invited to a party.”
    “Gosh, no,” I told her. “I’ll feel fine tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss that party for the world.”
    The next morning I really hammed it up. I snuck an extra blanket under my bedspread, making sure I’d sweat plenty, splashed water in my eyes, getting them good and red, plus various other tactics. When the afternoon rolled around, I knew my mother wouldn’t have let me out of bed even if the house had been burning down. So I fought the good fight, moaned about how much I wanted to go, and in general earned the Academy Award for malingering. Finally, when I thought I couldn’t stand it much longer, she and my father left, and I was alone.
    I turned the radio on, threw the covers off, and lay there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Then I started to swear, but that never does much good. So I snuck downstairs to the living-room, to the big window that faced out on Zock’s house.
    I saw it all, from first to last, standing there in my pajamas that hot summer afternoon. About the only time I missed was once when I heard my mother coming up the walk so I had to beat it back to bed, barely making it, smiling bravely until she left again.
    It was a garden party Mrs.