Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [98]
He listened to the details. He felt more or less the same, although slightly more irked with Carolyn and somewhat less concerned about Douglas.
She asked what he thought should be done.
He suggested they ignore the matter. It was a summer romance, and the petals would turn brown pretty rapidly in September because the girl lived halfway across the city and attended a different high school—one more bit of information from Carolyn. But then he reconsidered. Douglas was not yet old enough to drive, so the threat of the automobile could be ignored; however, he had reached an age where a girl from a lower-class family might seem like fair game. This attitude could cause trouble. It was not apt to, but it might. He said he would have a talk with Douglas.
He did not like questioning his son, but having committed himself, he did. Douglas was invited into the study, the door was shut, and without wasting any time Mr. Bridge asked how much he knew about the girl.
Douglas slumped in the witness chair. Not much, he said.
They had met at the club, was that correct?
At the swimming pool.
At the swimming pool, all right. Where did she live?
In a big apartment building near Menorah Hospital. Her mother worked at Menorah, he thought.
Menorah? Was this girl a Jewess?
Douglas didn’t know. He had never thought about it. He guessed she might be Irish.
What was her name?
Peggy O’Hara.
Was it true they were seeing each other away from the club?
Yes.
How many times had they seen each other?
He sighed. Three or four times. Maybe five times.
Where did they go on these occasions?
Bowling. Movies. Sometimes walked around.
How did she get home?
Took the bus, transferred to the streetcar, walked the rest of the way.
Had he gone home with her?
Once. Her mother didn’t like it.
Douglas was sliding lower and lower in the chair. His mouth hung open and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling with a look of anguish.
Mr. Bridge said he was sorry, he did not enjoy asking these questions, but it was easy for a boy to find himself in an awkward situation with a very young girl. And please sit up straight in the chair.
There was a long pause. One particular question must be asked. Had he been intimate with this girl?
Douglas coughed. He scratched his nose. He took a deep breath. Finally he murmured no, not very much. Just a little.
Did he like this girl? Or was she merely an available girl?
Well, yes.
Well yes, what?
He liked her.
Did he think he was in love with her?
No.
Mr. Bridge asked if there were not some girls from his own high school or some girls who went swimming at the club that he would like to take to the movies.
Not especially. He liked Peggy pretty well.
Why?
She was different.
In what respect?
Most girls were stuck-up. They thought they were hot stuff.
Not all of them, surely.
Most of them. The other ones were ugly. Anyway, he liked Peggy. She gave him a free ice-cream cone.
And here, completely unexpected, was the clue. Mr. Bridge leaned forward. So she gave him an ice-cream cone, did she? Why did she do this?
Well, one day she brought him an ice-cream cone, that was all. He hadn’t ordered it, she just brought it down to the pool and handed it to him. No other girl ever had given him anything.
Did he expect presents?
No. No, he didn’t expect anything.
Then Mr. Bridge was silent for a while. At last he said: All right, but be careful.
103 Venus of Mission Hills
As he was passing Carolyn’s room he glanced in. She stood naked on one foot in front of the long mirror, arms poised as if she were about to dance.
In the study he dropped his briefcase heavily on the desk. He wondered if she had seen him as he walked by. He looked down the hall. Now the door to her room was shut, so she knew. The fault was hers, he thought angrily. She should know