the copper-colored beer can between his palms. Fear had crept over his scalp. Had the girl possibly followed him to the house? But she had no car. âWhat do you mean?â David asked.
âI mean, she asks me all about you, and boy, she doesnât forget what I tell her!â
âYouâve talked to her?â
âIâve had a cup of coffee with her, thatâs all,â Wes said in a calm, placating tone, drank some of his beer, and looked down at the yellow carpet. âTwice, in fact. I ran into her near the diner. Once in the diner.â
David did not quite believe that was all. He could see Wesâs guilt.
âIt was funny, Iâd try to ask her about herself, and sheâd steer the conversation right back to you. I told her we worked at the same place, you know, and boy, questions, questions. Youâve certainly made a conquest.â
âDonât make me laugh.â David closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his locked fingers.
âIâm not joking. Sheâs very sad that you have to be away every weekend. She told me so. Anyway, I certainly couldnât get to first base with her, even if I wanted to.â
âAnd do you want to?â David asked, opening his eyes.
Wes looked at him with his head on one side. âNo, my friend, I really donât. But thereâs such a thing as enjoying female company, you know, a beer in the evening, a little gab and a laugh or two and then home again, back to the hellhole. You wouldnât know about that, I guess.â
David was silent.
âWhile I was talking with her, something funny crossed my mind. I thought, what if old Daveâsââ He stopped, his eyes on Davidâs face.
âGo ahead,â David said casually.
âI shouldnât say it, considering your mother.â When David said nothing, Wes went on in a rush, âI was thinking, wouldnât it be funny if you had a girl somewhere that you went to see on weekends, and all the rest of us thought you didnât care a damn for themâor you couldnât ever look at a girl because of that girl you told me aboutââ He smiled at David, though he looked a little ashamed. âItâs a bad joke.â
At the word âjoke,â David obediently gave a laugh. âYes, it would be funny.â
Wes carried his empty beer can to Davidâs wastebasket, and got a fresh can from the paper bag he had brought. He extended it politely to David, who shook his head. David had drunk one. Wes drank beer more or less on the sly at the factory, but it put no weight on him. Wes was five feet nine, but so slender and small-boned he seemed taller. His fine brown hair was inclined to rise up over his forehead. Most of the time, he looked like a happy, intellectual seventeen-year-old boy, a boy who had had to wear glasses always.
âSpeaking of going away places,â Wes said, âIâd certainly like to have some place to go weekends.â He tipped up his beer can and looked at the light fixture on the ceilingâsplayed, tortured metal, two light bulbs and two empty sockets. âThere are times when I envy you this simple dwelling, even if you do have to share the john. At least this room is yours. Nobodyâs going to barge in and demand that you share it with themâunless itâs Effie!â Wes finished with a laugh that transformed his face.
âNot with Mrs. McCartney on patrol, she wonât.â
âAh-h, all landladies patrol. Things happen anyway.â With an incongruously scholarlike gesture, Wes pushed his glasses back with a forefinger.
Three days later Wes rented a small room on the ground floor of Mrs. McCartneyâs, which had just been vacated by a thin, fiftyish woman who had not been there long and whose name David had never learned. David heard about it through Effie Brennan. He met her on the front sidewalk one night when he was going out for a