"Shit, I remember him," Skip said.
"Mark's brother. Was always in the bag or stoned."
"Bigger but dumber." Robin stood there admiring her work.
"Woodrow Ricks. We used to call him the Poor Soul."
Skip was nodding.
"I can see him. Fat, sloppy dude with curly hair. He'd do this little wiggle and pull his pants out of his crack. Kind of sissified."
"Afraid of the dark," Robin said.
"That's right, we'd turn the lights out on him and he'd have a fit.
Hey, but he always had dough, huh? Mark'd make him pay for everything."
"That's why Mark let him tag along. Mark would run out of money, he'd get Woody to call home and Mom would send a check. You remember their house? The indoor swimming pool?"
It gave Skip instant recall.
"That's where we did it underwater. Yeah, we'd go there weekends to party." He grinned at the memory of that big glassed-in room, voices echoing.
"Everybody'd get smashed, tear their clothes off and jump in the pool."
"Sometimes with our clothes on, " Robin said.
"Their mother used to lurk. Remember that? Never said a word to anyone, but you'd see her lurking. She was a boozer. Mark said she drank at least two fifths a day."
Skip closed his eyes against the naked-light glare, to rest them, and listened to Robin tell him how Mark and his mom didn't get along, Mark being a little smarty pants How Woody was her favorite, her little prince, nursed him till he was about sixteen and they started drinking together. Skip grinned at that. Heard how the dad was gone by then, divorced, kicked out without a dime, the money being on Mom's side of the family. Her old man had invented hubcaps or some goddamn thing for the car business and made a fortune. Then when Mom finally drank herself under and they had the reading of the will, guess what?
Skip opened his eyes.
"Mom's favorite made out."
"Woody scored something like fifty million," Robin said, "plus the house."
"And Mark got cut out for acting smart," Skip said, "picking on his brother."
"Well, not entirely. Mark got two million and blew it trying to put on outdoor rock concerts in Pontiac. Usuallyin the rain. He bought a theater and now he does plays and musicals. I think with Woody backing him," Robin said.
"It's a second-rate operation, but it's show biz. You know what I mean? Mark's a celebrity. People magazine did a feature on him.
"Yippie turns Yuppie. Sixties radical cleans up his act and. goes legit in regional theater." I couldn't believe it. They mention Eldridge Cleaver, what he's doing now, Jerry Rubin, Rennie Davis, like Mark was in the same league with those guys."
"You're pissed off," Skip said, " 'cause you never got your picture in the paper. Or in the post office."
Wrong thing to say. Her eyes flashed at him.
"Sixties radical my ass. Mark was nothing but a media freak. He played to the TV cameras."
Skip said, being gentle with her now, "Sweetheart, that whole show back then was a put-on. You gonna tell me we were trying to change the world? We were kicking ass and having fun. All that screaming about Vietnam and burning draft cards? That was a little bitty part of it.
Getting stoned and laid was the trip. Where's everybody now? We've come clear around to the other side, joined the establishment."
"Some have," Robin said.
Look at her telling him that with a straight face. Skip stared at the red names shimmering there on the wall, flashing at him.