‘Sure it is!’
‘Honestly?’
‘What’s the matter, Sir? Don’t you believe me?’
‘What I don’t quite understand is, if you’re so keen on living alone – how does Lois fit in?’
‘Lois? What’s she got to do with it?’
‘Now, look, Kenny – I don’t mean to be nosey – but, rightly or wrongly, I got the idea that you and she might be, well, considering —’
‘Getting married? No. That’s out.’
‘Oh —?’
‘She says she won’t marry a Caucasian. She says she can’t take people in this country seriously. She doesn’t feel anything we do here means anything. She wants to go back to Japan and teach.’
‘She’s an American citizen, isn’t she?’
‘Oh, sure. She’s a Nisei. But, just the same, she and her whole family got shipped up to one of those internment camps in the sierras, right after the War began. Her father had to sell his business for peanuts, give it away practically, to some sharks who were grabbing all the Japanese property, and talking big about avenging Pearl Harbor! Lois was only a small kid, then, but you can’t expect anyone to forget a thing like that. She says they were all treated as enemy aliens; no one even gave a damn which side they were on. She says the Negroes were the only ones who acted decently to them. And a few pacifists. Christ, she certainly has the right to hate our guts! Not that she does, actually. She always seems to be able to see the funny side of things —’
‘And how do you feel about her?’
‘Oh, I like her a lot.’
‘And she likes you, doesn’t she?’
‘I guess so. Yes, she does. A lot.’
‘But don’t you want to marry her?’
‘Oh sure. I guess so. If she were to change her attitude. But I doubt if she will. And, anyhow, I’m in no rush about marrying anyone. There’s a lot of things I want to do, first —’ Kenny pauses, regarding George with his most teasing, penetrating grin. ‘You know what I think, Sir?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t believe you’re that much interested, whether I marry Lois or not. I think you want to ask me something different. Only you’re not sure how I’ll take it —’
‘What do I want to ask you?’
This is getting positively flirty, on both sides. Kenny’s blanket, under the relaxing influence of the talk and beer, has slipped, baring an arm and a shoulder and turning itself into a classical Greek garment, the chlamys worn by a young disciple – the favourite, surely – of some philosopher. At this moment, he is utterly, dangerously charming.
‘You want to know if Lois and I – if we make out together.’
‘Well, do you?’
Kenny laughs triumphantly. ‘So I was right!’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. . . . Do you?’
‘We did, once.’
‘Why only once?’
‘It wasn’t so long ago. We went to a motel. It’s down the beach, as a matter of fact, quite near here.’
‘Is that why you drove out here tonight?’
‘Yes – partly. I was trying to talk her into going there again.’
‘And that’s what the argument was about?’
‘Who says we had an argument?’
‘You left her to drive home alone, didn’t you?’
‘Oh well, that was because. . . . No, you’re right – she didn’t want to – she hated that motel the first time, and I don’t blame her. The office and the desk-clerk and the register; all that stuff they put you through. And of course they know damn well what the score is. . . . It all makes the thing much too important, and corny, like some big sin or something. And the way they look at you! Girls mind all that much more than we do —’
‘So now she’s called the whole thing off?’
‘Hell, no, it’s not that bad! It’s not that she’s against it, you understand. Not on principle. In fact, she’s definitely – well, anyhow. . . . I guess we can work something out. We’ll have to see —’
‘You mean, maybe you can find some place that isn’t so public and embarrassing?’
‘That’d be a big help, certainly —’ Kenny grins, yawns, stretches himself. The chlamys slips off his other shoulder. He pulls it back over both shoulders as he rises, turning it into a blanket again and himself into a gawky twentieth-century American boy comically stranded without his clothes. ‘Look, Sir, it’s getting as late as all hell. I have to be going.’
‘Where, may I ask?’
‘Why, back across town.’
‘In what?’
‘I can get a bus, can’t I?’
‘They won’t start running for another two hours, at least.’
‘Just the same —’
‘Why don’t you stay here? Tomorrow I’ll drive you.’
‘I don’t think I —’
‘If you start wandering around this neighbourhood in the dark, now the bars are shut, the police will stop you and ask what you’re doing. And you aren’t exactly sober, if you don’t mind my saying so. They might even take you in.’
‘Honestly, Sir, I’ll be all right.’
‘I think you’re out of your mind. However, we’ll discuss that in a minute. . . . First – sit down. I’ve got something I want to tell you.’