31
Z
AND I WERE on the Boston side of the river, early, running
intervals on the floor of Harvard Stadium. A woman in tight black
sweats and in-your-face red running shoes was running the stairs of
the stadium.
Z was watching
her.
"Good ass," Z
said.
"Absolutely is," I
said. "But before you get in too deep. It belongs to the girl of my
dreams."
"Her?"
"Main squeeze," I
said.
"That's
Susan?"
"Uh-huh."
"Holy Christ!" Z
said.
"My sentiments
exactly," I said.
"Sorry," Z
said.
"I often have the
same reaction," I said.
We reached the end
zone and turned and sprinted the hundred.
"That's really your
girlfriend," Z said as we turned and started to walk
back.
"Amazing, isn't
it?"
"Did I hear she's a
shrink?"
"Yep."
"From
Harvard?"
"She has a Ph.D.
from Harvard," I said.
"And she's with
you?"
"Every chance she
gets," I said.
"Why?" Z
said.
"Love makes strange
bedfellows," I said.
When she was through
with the stadium stairs, Susan came down and joined us as we ran
our last interval. She had no trouble keeping up. When we finished,
we went to sit in the sun on the bottom row of stadium seats, and I
introduced her to Z.
She put out her
hand. He shook it carefully.
"How do you do,
ma'am," Z said.
"Susan," she
said.
"Yes,
ma'am."
Susan looked at
me.
"Is he always this
polite?" she said.
"He's intimidated,"
I said.
"Poor Injun boy," he
said. "Off the reservation."
"What kind of Indian
are you?" Susan said.
"Cree," Z
said.
"And where are Crees
from?" Susan said.
"You mean before
Paleface steal our land."
"Yes, that's what I
meant," Susan said.
"Northern plains," Z
said.
Susan looked at
me.
"Susan's geography
is pretty well limited to Harvard Square," I said to
Z.
"Montana, Wyoming,"
Z said. "Saskatchewan, Alberta. Around there."
Susan smiled and
nodded just as if she knew where those places were. I knew, and she
knew I knew, that she didn't know which direction north
was.
"Do you speak Cree?"
Susan said.
Z rattled off an
answer in Cree.
"Oh, good," Susan
said. "I like that the language stays alive."
"Mother could
speak," Z said.
"You were close to
her?" Susan said.
"No," Z
said.
"Either of your
parents?" Susan said.
"Drunks," Z
said.
"Would you prefer to
be called a Native American?" Susan said.
"No," Z said. "We're
not natives, no more than you. Just come here sooner from someplace
else."
Susan
nodded.
"My date, here, has
promised me breakfast. Care to join us?"
"Breakfast?" Z said.
"It's quarter of one."
"I never eat before
I work out," Susan said. "It's a great diner in Watertown.
Close."
"No, thank you,
ma'am," Z said. "Ate breakfast already."
He
stood.
"Nice meeting you,"
Z said.
"And you," Susan
said.
Z turned and headed
off across the stadium. We watched him go.
"My goodness," Susan
said.
"Most I've ever
heard him speak," I said. "Christ, he was even sort of
humorous."
"Not only did he
talk," Susan said. "He sounded rather like you."
"You
think?"
"I do," she
said.
"Who better?" I
said.
"No one, if your
goal is to be a wiseass."
I grinned at
her.
"What better?" I
said.
"He looks good,"
Susan said.
"And," I said, "he
admired your tush."
"See, he's very
nice."
"Every straight male
alive admires your tush," I said. "Not all of them are
nice."
"Well, it's a nice
trait," Susan said. "Z seemed very ill at ease."
"Yes."
"Is he that way with
all women, or just Harvard-educated Jewesses?" Susan
said.
"I think it's
because he isn't going to have sex with you," I said.
"Why not?" Susan
said.
"Because you're with
me," I said.
"Oh, good," Susan
said. "I'd hate to think he didn't want to."
"The straight male
populace of the known world wants to," I said.
"Are you saying he
only knows how to relate to women if they are prospective sex
partners?"
"Be my guess," I
said.
"And
men?"
"Prospective
adversaries," I said.
"And you know this
how?"
"Because I know
stuff," I said.
"You're so certain,"
Susan said. "How come you're so certain?"
"In the barren days
before I met you," I said, "I might have had a touch of
that."
"I'm shocked," Susan
said. "Shocked, I tell you."
"Let's go eat," I
said.