something that tasted like a lump of dust. 'What was it this time?'
'Repperton,' his father said. 'Repperton and those other two boys. What did you think it was? The geopolitical situation in Brazil?'
'What happened to Repperton was an accident,' Arnie said. 'Why did he want to talk to you and Mom about something that was an accident, for Christ's sake?'
'I don't know.' Michael Cunningham paused. 'Do you?'
'How would I?' Arnie yelled. 'I was in Philadelphia, how would I know anything about it? I was playing chess, not . . . not . . . not anything else,' he finished lamely.
'One more time,' Michael Cunningham said. 'Is something going on, Arnie?'
He thought of the smell, the high, rotting stink. Leigh choking, digging at her throat, turning blue. He had tried to thump her on the back because that's what you did when someone was choking, there was no such thing as a Heimlich Manoeuvre because it hadn't been invented yet, and besides, that was how it was supposed to end, only not in the car. . . beside the road . . . in his arms . . .
He closed his eyes and the whole world seemed to tilt and swirl sickly.
'Arnie?'
'There is nothing going on,' he said through clenched teeth and without opening his eyes. 'Nothing but a lot of people who are on my case because I finally got something of my own and did it all by myself.'
'All right,' his father said, his lacklustre voice once more terribly reminiscent of Mr Slawson's. 'If you want to talk about it, I'm here. I always have been, although I didn't always make that as clear as I should have. Be sure to kiss your mother when you come in, Arnie.'
'Yeah, I will. Listen, Mi - '
Click.
He stood in the booth, listening stupidly to the sound of nothing at all. His father was gone. There wasn't even a dial tone because it was a dumb fucking . . . phone booth.
He dug into his pocket and spread his change out on the little metal shelf where he could look at it. He picked up a dime, almost dropped it, and at last got it into the slot. He felt sick and overheated. He felt as if he had been very efficiently disowned.
He dialled Leigh's number from memory.
Mrs Cabot picked the phone up and recognized his voice immediately. Her pleasant and rather sexy come-hither-thou-fascinating-stranger phone voice became instantly hard. Arnie had had his last chance with her, that voice said, and he had blown it.
'She doesn't want to talk to you and she doesn't want to see you,' she said.
'Mrs Cabot, please, if I could just - '
'I think you've done enough,' Mrs Cabot said coolly. 'She came in crying the other night and she's been crying off and on ever since. She had some sort of a. . . an experience with you the last time you and she went out, and I only pray it wasn't what I thought it was. I - '
Arnie felt hysterical laughter bubbling up inside him. Leigh had almost choked to death on a hamburger, and her mother was afraid Arnie had tried to rape her.
'Mrs Cabot, I have to talk to her.'
'I'm afraid not.'
He tried to think of something else to say, some way to get past the dragon at the gate. He felt a little like a Fuller Brush salesman trying to get in to see the lady of the house. His tongue wouldn't move. He would have made a lousy salesman. There was going to be that hard click and then smooth silence again.
Then he heard the telephone change hands, Mrs Cabot said something in sharp protest, and Leigh said something back; it was too muffled for him to catch. Then Leigh's voice said, 'Arnie?'
'Hi,' he said. 'Leigh, I just wanted to call and tell you how sorry I was about - '
'Yes,' Leigh said 'I know you were, and I accept your apology, Arnie. But I won't - I can't go out with you anymore. Unless things change.'
'Ask me something easy,' he whispered.
'That's all I - ' Her voice sharpened, moved slightly away from the telephone. 'Mom, please stop hanging over me!' Her mother said something that sounded disgruntled, there was a pause, and then Leigh's voice again, low. 'That's all I can say, Arnie. I know how crazy it sounds, but I still think your car tried to kill me the other night. I don't know how something like that