a bad guy if he really wasn’t, but there was something about the idea that felt . . . true. She could get mad, that was the thing about his mother. She could get so mad. And then she might say anything. It was possible that his father — who his mother had never once in Bobby’s memory called ‘Randy’ — had given too many people too many shirts right off his back, and consequently made Liz Garfield mad. Liz Garfield didn’t give away shirts, not off her back or from anywhere else. You had to save your shirts in this world, because life wasn’t fair.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Liz.’ He felt dazed, the way he’d felt coming out of the dark theater into the bright light.
‘Like Liz Taylor.’ Alanna looked pleased. ‘That’s a nice name for a girlfriend.’
Bobby laughed, a little embarrassed. ‘No, my mother’s Liz. My girlfriend’s name is Carol.’
‘She pretty?’
‘A real hosty-tosty,’ he said, grinning and wiggling one hand from side to side. He was delighted when Alanna roared with laughter. She reached over the desk, the flesh of her upper arm hanging like some fantastic wad of dough, and pinched his cheek. It hurt a little but he liked it.
‘Cute kid! Can I tell you something?’
‘Sure, what?’
‘Just because a man likes to play a little cards, that doesn’t make him Attila the Hun. You know that, don’t you?’
Bobby nodded hesitantly, then more firmly.
‘Your ma’s your ma, I don’t say nothing against anybody’s ma because I loved my own, but not everybody’s ma approves of cards or pool or … places like this. It’s a point of view, but that’s all it is. Get the picture?’
‘Yes,’ Bobby said. He did. He got the picture. He felt very strange, like laughing and crying at the same time. My dad was here, he thought. This seemed, at least for the time being, much more important than any lies his mother might have told about him. My dad was here, he might have stood right where I’m standing now. ‘I’m glad I look like him,’ he blurted.
Alanna nodded, smiling. ‘You coming in here like that, just walking in off the street. What are the odds?’
‘I don’t know. But thanks for telling me about him. Thanks a lot.’
‘He’d play that Jo Stafford song all night, if you’d let him,’ Alanna said. ‘Now don’t you go wandering off.’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘No, Alanna.’
Bobby grinned. ‘Alanna.’
She blew him a kiss as his mother sometimes did, and laughed when Bobby pretended to catch it. Then she went back through the door. Bobby could see what looked like a living room beyond it. There was a big cross on one wall.
He reached into his pocket, hooked a finger through the keyring (it was, he thought, a special souvenir of his visit down there), and imagined himself riding down Broad Street on the Schwinn from the Western Auto. He was heading for the park. He was wearing a chocolate-colored stingybrim hat cocked back on his head. His hair was long and combed in a duck’s ass — no more crewcut, later for you, Jack. Tied around his waist was a jacket with his colors on it; riding the back of his hand was a blue tattoo, stamped deep and forever.
Outside Field B Carol would be waiting for him. She’d be watching him ride up, she’d be thinking Oh you crazy boy as he swung the Schwinn around in a tight circle, spraying gravel toward (but not on) her white sneakers. Crazy, yes. A bad motorscooter and a mean go-getter.
Len Files and Ted were coming back now, both of them looking happy. Len, in fact, looked like the cat that ate the canary (as Bobby’s mother often said). Ted paused to pass another, briefer, word with the old guy, who nodded and smiled. When Ted and Len got back to the lobby area, Ted started toward the telephone booth just inside the door. Len took his arm and steered him toward the desk instead.
As Ted stepped behind it, Len ruffled Bobby’s hair. ‘I know who you look like,’ he said. ‘It come to me while I was in the back room. Your dad was — ‘