Then she said, âDo you know your eyes sparkle in this light?â
I wear contact lenses. âItâs because Iâm a romantic,â I said. âAnd so do yours.â
âOh, I wear contact lenses. Liz doesnât, though; her eyes arenât as bad as mine.â She gave me a coy look. âSo we arenât exactly the same, after all.â
âTwo separate mysteries,â I said, with low-voiced melodrama.
âThatâs exactly tight Isnât it that way with you and your brother?â
The brother again. âOh, I suppose weâre different in some ways,â I said.
âWould I like to meet him?â
A comical thought entered my brainâcasual, fanciful, not yet serious. âYouâd probably get along fine with old Bart,â I said.
âBart, is that his name?â
âMmm hmm.â
âWhy donât you bring him around some time?â
I smiled. âMaybe I will,â I said. âMaybe I will.â Then another ray from Lizâs eyes struck my left temple a glancing blow, and I bowed my head to look at my drink and say, âI believe I need a refill.â
We parted with mutual expressions of esteem, and Liz intercepted me at the bar. âMy usual, Mike,â she said.
âHa ha ha,â said Mike.
Liz tossed me a sidelong green-eyed glare. âHaving fun with my sister?â
âSheâd rather be in a ski lodge,â I said. âBefore a roaring fire.â
âOr in one,â she muttered, and Mike gave us our drinks.
I said, âLetâs go back to the closet.â
She gave me a flat look. âScrew you,â she said, and went away.
I hung around a while longer, but she remained angry, and God knows there was no other reason to be there, so eventually I made my departure. I gave my hostesses separate farewells. âDrop in any time youâre in the neighborhood,â Liz said, with eyes much colder than her sisterâs winter wonderland. Betty, in her turn, said she was glad to meet me and asked once more after my dear brother Bart. Then I left.
This protected enclave of the well-bred well-to-do; they even leave their bicycles out at night, unlocked, safe from the teen-age chimpanzees who harass the proletarian communities. I stole the first bike I came to, rode it to the end of Point Oâ Woods, walked it with difficulty through the thick sand around the end of the fence, and then rode cheerfully down the central walk through Ocean Bay Park and Seaview and Ocean Beach. I had to abandon it men and walk along the beach to Lonelyville, but in Dunewood I found another untended bikeâmost unusualâand sailed along to Fair Harbor and the fair Candy, who had just had a raging fight with Ralph and wasnât speaking to anybody. Ralph and I went to Hommelâs and drank, until Ralph asked me to go back to the house and try to soothe Candy. âShe wonât talk to me,â he said. âMaybe sheâll talk to you.â So I went back to the house and soothed her.
T HE NEXT DAY WAS WED nesday and I was going to the city. Ralph decided to go in with me, so we took a morning ferry together, wearing shoes and carrying attaché cases. Ralph bought a Times at the Pioneer Market to read on the boat, and I spent the time trying to work up some fresh greetings. I didnât have a really good Get Well Soon, and it was also time to start thinking about Christmas. While the ferry wallowed across the Great South Bay, I doodled on a sheet of paper resting on my attaché case. âGet well soonâget well soonâget well soonââ
The voyage from Fire Island to Manhattan employs most of the transportation methods known to man. First the ferry to Bay Shore, on the southern coast of Long Island; then a cab from the dock to the railroad station; then a train on in to the city. âGet well soon,â I wrote. âGet well soon.â I was getting nowhere.
Then all