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

Crowe gave. With punch. There was a big bowl of it set on a table in the back yard. When I started looking just a few were present; Zock, my folks and his, plus some I didn’t know, probably other cousins who made the trip out for the occasion. It appeared about as dull as you would expect Mrs. Crowe’s parties to be, what with that big cut-glass punch bowl right smack in the middle of the lawn and other goodies spread around, little sandwiches, etc. Nothing much happened until suddenly everyone hurried around to the front of the house because of the honking from the convertible that had just driven up.
    And Sadie Griffin got out. Dressed all in white with her golden hair tumbling down her back, her skin tanned from the summer sun. She smiled and started kissing everybody, throwing her arms around them, so I dashed to the kitchen for a glass of water, hurrying back in time to see her half turn, hold out her hand. And there he was.
    He was tall and dark-haired and even from my distance you could tell that a giant size bottle of hair oil would last him about three days. If he went easy. And he was wearing a blazer, complete with crest and gold buttons. On a hot summer day the son of a bitch was wearing a blazer. With gray pants and white bucks and a red striped tie. His name, I found out later, was Alvin. Everyone called him Al, but you can bet if I’d ever met him, it would have been Alvin right down the line. He took her by the hand, Old Hair Oil did, and together they walked around to where the punch was, smiling at each other all the time.
    More people came, lots of them, some of them wives from the college dragging their husbands. They all just stood around gassing, except for Zock’s father, who kept going inside for liquor, bringing out drinks for the menfolk, as Mrs. Crowe called them, and thank God for that. Everyone looked pretty stupid from where I was, like actors in the old silent movies who gestured with their arms, raised their eyebrows, moved their lips but you couldn’t hear a thing they were saying.
    After a while I got tired standing, so I brought a chair up to the window, out of sight, staying there for hours, sitting and watching, my chin in my hands. And I was like that when I heard my mother again, close by, coming up the walk. Shoving the chair back, I ran for the stairs.
    I made it only to the halfway landing when she spoke to me. And this time it wasn’t my mother. It was her.
    “I’m sorry you couldn’t come to the party,” she opened, and I turned, stared down, said nothing. She was standing in the middle of the foyer, away from any windows, almost in shadow, but not quite.
    “It’s really a wonderful party,” she went on. “And I am sorry you couldn’t come. I asked for you especially.”
    “That’s the breaks,” I said.
    “Your mother told me you weren’t feeling well.”
    “She told you right,” I said. “I’m sick.”
    Sadie Griffin started coming up the stairs.
    “I’m sick,” I said again. “So you better not come close.”
    “I’m not afraid,” she said.
    “You might catch something,” I told her, backing up the rest of the stairs. “You’d have to postpone your wedding.” She kept on. “You wouldn’t want to have to postpone your wedding.”
    She got to the halfway landing but by then I was at the top, away from the railing by the wall.
    “I’ve told Al about you,” she said. “He was very anxious...”
    “I’ll bet,” I cut in.
    “You’d like him,” she went on. “He’s”—and she threw her arms out wide—“wonderful.”
    “He’d be more wonderful if only he’d use a little grease on his hair. That’d probably make him perfect.”
    At which she laughed and started talking softly up to me. “When I was fourteen,” she whispered. “I had an algebra teacher named Mr. Dillon. He was short and not very handsome, but...”
    “Can the crap!” I said which, vulgar as it was, did the trick, for right after, she turned to leave.
    “I only