Apologize, Apologize! - By Elizabeth Kelly Page 0,32

sight of him, and he was so flustered that he ran wildly out into the street, and that’s how he got killed.”

“Collie, please, masturbation is a sin of vanity, it’s a terrible waste of time, a drain on your manhood, and once the pedal and crank takes hold of a man . . . ,” Pop said.

Bingo shook his head from side to side. “Too late, Pop. Why do you think I screamed when I walked into Collie’s bedroom last night?”

“I’ll go mad if I have to listen to any more. Must you go on and on about this, Collie? Such narcissism—is every discussion in this house to concern only what you want? It’s too much. I can’t handle any more.” Ma clutched her head, her hands a helmet compressing her skull, which was threatening to explode.

Most conversations with Ma concluded on a similarly theatrical tormented note. Implicit in every encounter, however banal, was the threat of her suddenly evaporating, vaporized by the ubiquitous self-centeredness of others. The world, according to Ma, had nothing better to do than think up ways to drain her blood, a little bit every day.

“Fine,” she wailed. “Have your own way. Do whatever you want. I haven’t the strength to fight you on it. I’ll pay for it, if it will just put an end to your interminable whining, but only if you go to Brown. You must go to Brown. You let me handle your grandfather,” Ma said, rising to her feet in a swirl of rising tides and cloudy consternation. Brushing past Bingo, patting him on the head as if he were a puppy, fluffy pick of the litter, she ducked into the hallway, Marty following her up the stairs.

“What’s her problem?” Tom asked as Pop shrugged.

“Girls only,” he said, raising an eyebrow, the unfastidious specter of female problems resolving the discussion.

“Hey, Collie . . .” Bingo stopped me at the door as I headed down to the beach to drown myself.

“What do you call a guy that fucks models all day long?”

“Bing Flanagan.”

“That’s who I want to be.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE NEXT WEEKEND, THE FALCON AND I WERE IN NEW YORK CITY, alone at last, a kind of nightmare honeymoon in June, just the two of us. A couple of times a year, he swept in and spirited me away to shop for a “decent bloody wardrobe.” The Falcon took clothes and appearance seriously, a characteristic he weirdly shared with Pop.

“The face you present to the world,” the Falcon called it. “Where the exterior eye leads, the inner eye will soon follow.”

It was ninety degrees, or maybe it just felt that hot. Rivulets of sweat ran down the back of my neck. I glanced into the mirror in the dressing room and tried vainly to batten down the curls. Jesus, the only thing missing was a Pan flute.

I took a quick appraising look and groaned—when it came to informal wear for young men, the Falcon was all about Barbour jackets, varsity cardigans, cashmere scarves, and moleskin trousers. I looked like an effete fugitive from Wallis Simpson’s id.

“What are you smiling about?” he demanded, standing at ease in a cream-colored suit, slim and straight, the salesman fluttering around him like a butterfly when I emerged from the dressing room.

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Do you always walk around grinning about nothing?” He seemed to be making an effort at levity, but his voice betrayed an arctic edge.

“Well, actually, right at the moment, I feel as if I may never smile again.”

“No one likes a wise-ass, Collie,” he said, moving toward me, adjusting the lapels of my jacket. I stood my ground, but psychologically I shifted a couple of steps to the side, unaccustomed to such intimacy with the Falcon. That kind of proximity to my grandfather made me feel as if I were stranded in the most isolated pocket of the earth and trying vainly to scale the volcanic cliffs of Tristan da Cunha. I took a deep breath—if good taste were a scent, it would have smelled like the Falcon.

“Hmmm . . .” He paused to consider, narrowing his blue eyes. “Stand up straight . . . there now. That’s better. I must admit, you do wear clothes well,” he said, both hands lightly dusting my shoulders. “You’ve got me to thank for that. You’re the image of me at the same age. It’s like looking in a mirror.” The Falcon shook his head as if he were trying to comprehend the idea that nature could be