American Boy - Larry Watson [52]
Meanwhile, Johnny had opened another can of beer and was once again pouring part of it down the drain. This time it seemed as if wine made up more than half the drink.
“What did Lester call this again?” he asked Louisa.
“Fucked-up juice.”
“That’s a good name. A very good name. I can tell already this stuff will fuck a guy up. ”
But the term that Johnny and I were likely to use was “tight,” because it belonged more to the world of sophisticated adult consumption of alcohol than it did to the sloppy, stupid, beer-swilling behavior that characterized so much teenage drinking. And yet the word didn’t really apply to Johnny very well. The more Johnny drank, the looser he got. His tongue flapped and his gestures became large, as if all his restraints were suddenly undone. I, on the other hand, could rightly be called “tight” when I drank. Because I didn’t like to lose control, I always kept a close watch on myself.
Louisa followed Johnny’s advice and moved around the clubhouse to keep warm. “So is this some kind of exclusive men’s club? Am I in the inner sanctum or something?”
“Nah,” said Johnny. “The public is welcome.” He spread his arms wide. “The entire goddamn public. Give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses looking to break par.”
Louisa continued to explore the locker room, and in a corner, behind a mop and bucket, she found a furled banner. I knew what it said without seeing it unrolled: “Merchants Golf Tourney: Three Days, Five Flights.” The banner hung over the clubhouse door every August.
But Louisa obviously wasn’t interested in its message. She unrolled it only to drape it around her shoulders for warmth.
“Now that,” Johnny said, “is how they should advertise the tournament.”
Louisa struck a mock-seductive pose, as if she were wearing nothing under the banner. “Play golf with us,” she purred. The line and the pose were supposed to be a joke, and Johnny and I both laughed. But Louisa’s performance was so quick and sure that it also left me astonished. I had never seen her talent for mimicry before, and it was so impressive I realized in an instant that even if her talent was natural, it still must have been nurtured and developed with practice. I imagined Louisa in front of a mirror, imitating Edie Adams in her commercials for White Owl cigars. But then another thought occurred to me: Had I really never seen Louisa’s talent for mimicry before? How could I be sure?
“Johnny’s played in that tournament a few times,” I said.
“Is that right?” Louisa sat down on the bench, using the banner as a shawl. “Are you a good golfer?”
“I’m not bad.” Johnny took a long swallow from his beer can, then shook it next to his ear, as if hearing were the only way he could tell whether there was any liquid left. “But Matt, Matt hits the ball a mile.”
“Not straight,” I added.
“So who’s the best golfer? Be honest.”
“Johnny,” I said. “By far.”
“The best baseball player?”
“We’re both pretty shitty,” replied Johnny. He was already opening another beer and reaching for the wine.
“The fastest runner?” asked Louisa.
“Johnny. Not even a contest.”
“The strongest?”
“Definitely Matt.”
“I’ve seen the two of you studying your little heads off. Who’s the best student?”
“That’d be Johnny. I don’t think he’s ever gotten anything but A’s. Ever.”
“I got a B in Latin,” he said.
“But not for a semester grade.” I finished my beer, set the can on the floor, and kicked it across the room. It bounced and clattered across the linoleum, then came to rest in a urinal.
“Well, I know who the best hockey player is.” And how, I wondered, did she know that? Had Dr. Dunbar somehow entered this competition? “Who’s the best dancer?”
“Matt. He’s had the most practice.”
“With what’s-her-name?” asked Louisa.
“Debbie,” said Johnny, and reached again for the bottle of Regal House to pour more wine into his beer can. When he handed the bottle back to Louisa, she took two quick swallows, as if she knew that at the rate Johnny was going, the wine wouldn’t last long.
“Here’s one for you,” she said. “Who’s the best kisser?”
“How the hell would