Wonder Boys - Michael Chabon [81]
I clapped James on the shoulder. “That’s a snake, all right,” I said’
James knelt down and poked a finger through a hexagon of chicken wire. He made kissing sounds.
“I think he really likes me,” said James.
“He does,” I agreed. I tried to remember if I had ever actually seen Grossman move. “I can tell.”
James followed me up out of the basement and we went around the house to my car, brushing the spider silk from our eyebrows and lips. Evening was coming on. A paisley scarf of purple clouds and sunlight trailed across Ohio to the west. The air was dewy and the grass squeaked under our shoes. There was a smell of horseshit and onions fried in chicken fat. One of the cows out in the barnyard made a mournful comment on the burdensomeness of life. When we had nearly reached the Galaxie, to my surprise James gave a pirate cry and bolted across the last ten feet. He sprang into the air, then, with his arms pressed down against the top of the door, launched himself, as if to vault into the front seat of the open car. He had enough height, I thought, and his trajectory looked good. But at the very last instant he stopped himself and made an emergency two-point landing in the grass. He turned around, his face very serious.
“I’m having a good time, Professor Tripp,” he said.
“I’m glad,” I said, reaching past him for the glove compartment. I pulled out the Baggie and the papers and went to work on a joint, rolling it up on a flat stretch of my poor, mutilated hood.
“They’re nice,” James went on. “That Phil is cool.”
I smiled. “I know it.”
“Kind of not too bright.”
“No,” I said. “But cool.”
“That’s how I’d want my brother to be,” he said, sounding wistful.
“Play your cards right and he could be,” I said. “I think they pretty much have an open-door policy around here.”
“Grady? You don’t have, like, any other real family, do you?”
“No, I really don’t. A couple of aunts I never see back in my hometown.” I drew the ends taut and pinched them. “And the Wonders, I guess. Goddamn them.”
“The Wonders?”
“The brothers in my book. They’re sort of like my brothers.” I sniffed. “I guess that’s the best I can do.”
“Hey, you know what? I’m the same way!” He raised the back of one hand to his brow and gave his head a tragical toss. “We’re orphans!” he cried.
I laughed. I said, “You’re drunk.”
“You’re lucky,” he said, looking up at the house.
“Think so?” I drew the sweet stripe of adhesive gum across the tip of my tongue.
His eyes met mine, and to my surprise I discovered in them a hint of pity.
“Grady, you know how that guy was talking last night about, you know, having a double? Who goes around wrecking his life for him? So that he’ll have plenty to write about?” He was looking at the impression of a pair of buttocks stamped into the hood of my car. “Did you think that was all bullshit?”
“No,” I said, “I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“I didn’t either,” he said.
“Gra-dy! Jay-ames!” It was Irene, calling us from the porch. “It’s time!”
“We’ll be right there!” said James. “I guess Philly’s not coming out.”
“I guess not,” I said. “It’s kind of hard to be all wild and slip out into the yard for a doobie when you’re an old married man like he is.”
“A husband.”
“A husband,” I said, lighting the joint and taking that first long piney sip of smoke. I passed it to James. “Here.”
James hesitated for a moment, holding the lit end of the joint under his nose, sniffing at it speculatively.
“Should I?”
“Go for it.”
“All right.” He lifted the joint in the air and nodded to me, as if raising a glass of wine for a toast. “To the Wonder brothers.” He took a very long and ambitious drag, then coughed it all out. “I don’t know about this stuff,” he said.
“Whys that?”
“It kind of makes