Something’s wrong here, Bobby thought, and as Mr Biderman opened the passenger door for his mother, as she murmured her thanks and slid in, gathering her dress a little so it wouldn’t wrinkle, he had an urge to tell her not to go, Rhode Island was too far away, Bridgeport would be too far away, she needed to stay home.
He said nothing, though, only stood on the curb as Mr Biderman closed her door and walked back around to the driver’s side. He opened that door, paused, and then did his stupid little batter-up pantomime again. This time he added an asinine fanny-wiggle. What a nimrod, Bobby thought.
‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Sport,’ he said.
‘But if you do, name it after me,’ Cushman called from the back seat. Bobby didn’t know exactly what that meant but it must have been funny because Dean laughed and Mr Biderman tipped him one of those just-between-us-guys winks.
His mother was leaning in his direction. ‘You be a good boy, Bobby,’ she said. I’ll be back around eight on Thursday night — no later than ten. You’re sure you’re fine with that?’
No, I’m not fine with it at all. Don’t go off with them, Mom, don’t go off with Mr Biderman and those two grinning dopes sitting behind you. Those two nimrods. Please don’t.
‘Sure he is,’ Mr Biderman said. ‘He’s a sport. Ain’t you, Sport?’
‘Bobby?’ she asked, not looking at Mr Biderman. ‘Are you all set?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. I’m a sport.’
Mr Biderman bellowed ferocious laughter — Kill the pig, cut his throat, Bobby thought —
and dropped the Mercury into gear. ‘Providence or bust!’ he cried, and the car rolled away from the curb, swerving across to the other side of Broad Street and heading up toward Asher. Bobby stood on the sidewalk, waving as the Merc passed Carol’s house and Sully-John’s. He felt as if he had a bone in his heart. If this was some sort of premonition — a winkle — he never wanted to have another one.
A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked around and saw Ted standing there in his bathrobe and slippers, smoking a cigarette. His hair, which had yet to make its morning acquaintance with the brush, stood up around his ears in comical sprays of white.
‘So that was the boss,’ he said. ‘Mr . . . Bidermeyer, is it?’
‘Bider man.’
‘And how do you like him, Bobby?’
Speaking with a low, bitter clarity, Bobby said, ‘I trust him about as far as I could sling a piano.’
6
A Dirty Old Man. Ted’s Casserole. A Bad
Dream. Village of the Damned. Down There.
An hour or so after seeing his mother off, Bobby went down to Field B behind Sterling House. There were no real games until afternoon, nothing but three-flies-six-grounders or roily-bat, but even roily-bat was better than nothing. On Field A, to the north, the little kids were futzing away at a game that vaguely resembled baseball; on Field C, to the south, some high-school kids were playing what was almost the real thing.
Shortly after the town square clock had bonged noon and the boys broke to go in search of the hotdog wagon, Bill Pratt asked, ‘Who’s that weird guy over there?’
He was pointing to a bench in the shade, and although Ted was wearing a trenchcoat, an old fedora hat, and dark glasses, Bobby recognized him at once. He guessed S-J would’ve, too, if S-J hadn’t been at Camp Winnie. Bobby almost raised one hand in a wave, then didn’t, because Ted was in disguise. Still, he’d come out to watch his downstairs friend play ball.
Even though it wasn’t a real game, Bobby felt an absurdly large lump rise in his throat. His mom had only come to watch him once in the two years he’d been playing — last August, when his team had been in the Tri-Town Championships — and even then she’d left in the fourth inning, before Bobby connected for what proved to be the game-winning triple.
Somebody has to work around here, Bobby-0, she would have replied had he dared reproach her for that. Your father didn’t exactly leave us well off, you know. It was true, of course —
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