Becca Page 3

  “A recruiter gave that to me.”

  “What for?”

  “He wants me to enlist.”

  “Oh, damn it, Bertram. Why did he bother you, and why did you take his card?”

  “It’s his job to bother me.”

  “I’ll call down to the recruiting station and tell them to leave you alone. They have no right to talk to you.”

  “Mom, I can’t avoid the draft. He wants me to consider my options.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “There’re a lot of other young men to go. Oh, honey, I can’t let them send you to that country. You’re my baby.” She said down heavily on the chair next to his and ruffled his hair. “My baby Bertram Leslie Martin Junior.”

  “Mom, please.”

  “You don’t like your name? It’s a good name.”

  “Mom—”

  “When you were little you asked why you had to have such a dumb name—Bertram. You said you hated your name, and wanted to have a nice name like your brothers.

  “Matthew, Mark, and Luke. You asked me why you couldn’t have a Bible name like theirs. If their father had survived the war I would have had a son—John Patrick Carter. But you are Bertram Leslie Martin’s son. He was a fine man and you have his name.”

  Her son did not know his father because his father died when Bertram had been eight months old. “Oh, my, he loved you so. He doted over you. And you look just like him.”

  “How can that be?”

  “What do you mean? He was so handsome, just like you.”

  “Yes, and was he light or dark?”

  “Bertram.” She touched his hand then patted it.

  He put his hand on top of hers. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s not the name that bothers you, is it.” She looked at him with a mother’s tenderness and touched her fingertips to his face and his hair.

  “People look at me like I’m like a freak.”

  “A handsome one.”

  He saw his mother’s smile, and knew she wanted one from him. He obliged her, but fleetingly. “It’s tough. I’m like in between. You know am I—”

  “Don’t say another word about that,” his mother’s face grew stern. “You are what you are, honey. You don’t have to be either, but you are part of both.”

  IV

  The A & P was busy when Bert walked in. He didn’t need anything, but he had been thinking about the girl in the Mustang and felt compelled to visit her. Something had passed between them—they had connected, and he wanted to keep it going. She did not notice him as he walked past her and again a few minutes later when he stood in her line.

  She wore a cheerful smile on her face and she chatted with her customers as if she knew them all very well. The man whose groceries she checked now asked her about a box of cereal and so she asked for a price check. As she waited, her eyes met Bert’s eyes. A hint of surprise passed over her face, and she looked away. She did not look at him again until she took his items to ring up.

  “Hello,” she said courteously. “Find everything?”

  “Yes,” he said. She did not look at him now—as if she was suddenly self-conscious about their extended conversation at the gas station a few nights ago.

  “Sixty-nine cents, please.” He handed her three quarters. “Thank you,” she said and returned him his change. Her eyes met his this time and a small smile formed on her lips. “Please come back again, on Wednesdays, Thursdays, or Fridays,” she said.

  Bert nodded and smiled. “I’ll try and remember that.”

  “You should have written it down. Now run along.”

  V

  The Mustang pulled into the station. The girl was not driving this time. Bert thought the driver might have been the man who had come in last week and asked about her, but it was someone his own age. The driver was laughing, as if the girl had just told him a joke. He stopped the car at the pumps and jumped out, and gave Bert the once over, as if for a moment sizing him up. In that once-over, he exuded a self-assurance that bordered on arrogance. Blond, blue-eyed, athletic, he was the epitome of the all-American fair-haired boy.

  “I’ve got use your bathroom,” he said to Bert.

  “It’s around the other side of the building,” Bert said. “It’s unlocked.”

  Bert walked to the car where the girl sat listening to the radio and acting as if she did not see him. She pulled down the visor mirror, craned her neck to raise her lips so she could see their reflection, then pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and went to work.

  “You’re staring at me,” she said, still looking in the visor mirror. After smacking her lips, a couple of times she said, “Stop it.” She smacked her lips again, put her lipstick away, and played with her bangs. “Still staring,” she said, not looking at him. “Only I know you’re not staring at my legs.”

  “Yeah, your jeans pretty much took care of that. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I recall you said legs are legs.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you’re not staring at anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. I should tell you that Greg doesn’t like guys staring at me.”

  “Who’s Greg?”

  “My boyfriend…the guy who’s emptying his bladder in your bathroom.”

  “He’s your boyfriend?”

  Now she looked at him. “Why did you say that that way?”

  “What way?”

  “Like you were surprised that he was my boyfriend.”

  “Maybe I’m surprised that you have a boyfriend at all.”

  She smiled. “Now you’re joking. Why wouldn’t I have a boyfriend? I mean look at me.”

  “May I without being accused of ogling?”

  She giggled. “Ah…you are something else. Anyway, I tell Greg he should get used to guys staring at me since it happens all of the time. It’s because I’m so damn beautiful.” When Bert smiled at that remark, the girl said, “You have a nice smile.”

  “My mother says that”

  She smiled, her green eyes shining. “I bet a lot of people say it.”

  “Nope. Just her.”

  “Is that because you don’t smile around other people?”

  Bert shrugged. “Maybe nobody says anything funny enough to make me smile.”

  “But I did? I should feel privileged.”

  “Yes.”

  “For your information, I’m going to try out for the cheerleading squad in college.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re surprised?”

  “Well…it’s just that you changed the subject without warning. Anyway, I don’t see you as the type who would shake her pom-poms.”

  The girl giggled at that and waved a finger at him. “You would love to see me shake my pom-poms.”

  “Rah rah shish boom bah.”

  “Go team go. So what do you think of him?” Becca asked, nodding at the building. “Greg. Are we a match?”

  “Blond hair and blue eyes—what more can a girl ask for.”

  “Yes, I thought so, too. He goes well with me. But do I go well with him?”

  “Like salt and pepper? Like apple pie and ice cream?”

  “Come on, serious.”

  “How can I answer that? I don’t know you.”

  “You don’t have to know me to answer. Do I look good with him?”

  “Well you’ve got freckles, green eyes and what is that—some kind of red hair?”

  “What is that? My God, how can you refer to my hair as that? It’s like you’re commenting on something sitting on top of my head.”

  “Well, it is sitting on top of your head.”

  “No, silly, I mean it’s like you were referring to some thing sitting on top of my head, not about my hair. And for your information that’s a very improper phrase to describe my hair. Some kind of red hair—that’s insulting. Please stop. I have strawberry blonde hair.” She sighed. “Now, do I or don’t I?”


  “Do you or don’t you what?”

  “Oh…my…God. You drive me crazy.”

  “I insult you. I drive you crazy. I have no earthly idea why you came in here—which is something you weren’t going to do, by the way. You said that.”

  “I was forced to. He had to go bad.”

  “There are other gas stations.”

  “Yes, but I remembered you had a clean restroom. Trust me, if it wasn’t for your restroom I would have driven on by.”

  “You could have gone to the restaurant right there.”

  “Naw, they want you to buy something to use the restroom.”

  “Well I require a purchase here also.”

  “I didn’t know that. But it won’t happen again so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Good, because I waste a lot of time standing around talking to you. After all I’m working here.”

  “Oh, is there a line? I mean, you’ve just got cars all over the place here waiting for your attention, don’t you?”

  “Smart ass.”

  “Another insult, I’m going to have Greg kick your butt when he gets back here.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t feel like getting my butt kicked. I have to finish my shift, and there may be a car or two that will come in here and if I’m all bloody or broken, I may have to turn them away.”

  “You’re funny. Hey, and didn’t I tell you not to come into the A and P when I worked there? Why should I believe anything you tell me?”

  “You told me you’d never come back here, and yet here you are. I could say the same thing.”

  The girl shook her head and looked at the building. “I’m getting confused. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, you didn’t answer my question—I mean you started to but you went off on a tangent. So tell me—no playing around. Do I or don’t I go with him? I mean—so you completely understand my meaning, do we make a good couple?”

  “You and him? You and Greg?”

  She groaned. “Oh my God who else would I be talking about? Come on, answer me.”

  “Does it matter what I think?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know you, so I figure you’d give me a straight answer.”

  “Okay. No.”

  The playfulness on her face disappeared. “Really?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s pepper and no salt; ice cream but no apple pie.”

  “Hmmm.” She acted as though she was trying to solve a difficult problem. “Oh, here he comes.” Then she reached over and started the car, leaned out her window and motioned for Bert to bend down. “My dad was in here the other day,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” Greg demanded.

  Bert straightened up. “Nothing.”

  “Oh my God, Greg.” The girl stuck her arms out straight, wrists together. “Busted. Take me to jail.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Getting busted and going to jail is not funny, you’re right.”

  “Cut it out. What were you talking about?”

  “Well, Greg, if you must know, we were planning our elopement.”

  “Okay, enough. That’s not funny.”

  “Greg, getting married is not funny. It’s very serious.”

  “Stop it.”

  “You can’t stop love once it has taken over your heart and soul.” She was grinning from ear to ear. “Honey, tell him what our plans are.” Her hand snaked out of the car and her fingers touched Bert’s wrist.

  Bert wished the girl would stop. It was obvious her boyfriend did not enjoy her sense of humor—probably because he had none of his own. “I think,” he said to her, without taking his eyes off Greg, “that you need to stop.”

  “Who are you to tell her what to do?” Greg demanded.

  The girl snatched her hand away. “Oh, Greg, geeze oh man, I’m just messin’ with you.”

  “I don’t like it.” He didn’t move.

  “Greg, are you going to get in the car so we can go to the movies, or are you going to kick his ass? Make up your mind. Greg glanced at her had grown, mostly due to her teasing. “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You stay here and do whatever, and I’ll go to the movies and when it’s over, I’ll come back and pick you up.”

  Greg huffed and pulled open the door and climbed behind the wheel. Becca took the moment to favor Bert with an apologetic look as Greg put the car in gear.

  “You can be such a creep, Greg,” Becca said as they pulled out of the station.

  “Me? What’s with you? I come out of the damn bathroom and he’s practically in the car. What were you guys talking about?”

  “The car. He was asking about the car.”

  “Like he’d ever own one of these.”

  “You know, you have a problem.”

  “I have a problem? What is it?”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to argue. I want to enjoy the movie.”

  “No, tell me what my problem is.”

  “Well, you have a superiority complex for one.”

  He smirked. “It’s easy to around guys like him.”

  “Guys like him? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t know, Greg. But let’s…never mind, okay?”

  “You can be a real smart ass sometimes,” Greg said.

  She chuckled. “He said the same thing.”

  “The guy at the gas station? What the hell did he call you that for?”

  “Because, I was being a smart ass.”

  VI

  After the movie, they stopped in at the Varsity House, their usual Saturday night haunt.

  “He seemed to know you,” Greg said as they sat at a table while the band took a break. “That guy—what was his name? At the gas station.”

  “I don’t know him.” She had not told Greg about her first encounter with Bertram-Josh. “How could he know me?”

  “That’s what I want to know. Are you sure you’ve never talked to him before?”

  “What do you mean am I sure? Don’t you think I’d know if I’ve talked to somebody before?”

  “Unless you didn’t want to tell me.”

  “Greg,” she leveled her green eyes on him and he sat back in his seat as if her voice had propelled him there. “What are you saying?”

  “You know…he’s… Don’t give me that look, Becky.” He shrugged. “I just got the impression that you guys knew each other or something.”

  “And what if we did know each other?”

  He leaned forward again and gave her a look from which she shrank. “So you know him or not?”

  “Okay, Greg, he and I have made mad passionate love. He’s got this—I don’t know—this amazing technique—”

  “Cut it out.”

  She laughed and patted Greg’s shoulder. “Oh my God, Greg, you are so gullible. I’m joking. Really, I don’t know the guy and I don’t think I’m his type.”

  Greg looked down at the table.

  “Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know…”

  “Yes, I do and shut up.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Well stop thinking of what you didn’t say.”

  She thought of what Bertram—no Josh, he liked to be called Josh—had said and studied Greg a moment as he watched the band preparing for another set. Greg was a year older than her, going to Pitt and majoring in business. He was a nice guy; gentle, relaxed, had the body of an Adonis, but played no sports instead spent a lot of time in gym weightlifting. They had known each other since seventh grade but had only started dating a year ago—and only at the insistence of their parents. Although they had made no commitment to each other, neither dated anyone else. Girls flirted shamelessly, but he dismissed them politely. Her friends prodded Becca about the intimate details of their sex life, but she said nothing. Not because of shyness, or that
she felt it was none of their business, the truth was there was no sex life. Greg, as fond as he was of her, and as much as he cuddled and kissed, and touched her had never attempted anything sexually. There was, in fact, vey little intimacy in their relationship. Perhaps he feared her father’s wrath; perhaps because of her past, he didn’t want to be intimate. Whatever the reason, Greg never showed any signs that he to take the relationship to the next level.

  Becca missed intimacy in her life—but she knew Greg was not the person to fill the void, and she wasn’t sure that was the direction she wanted to go right now anyway. She stayed with him because she genuinely liked him, yes, but the simple fact was she didn’t want to be alone. Greg provided her someone in her life. And she needed someone now to keep her from dwelling on the past. By concentrating on Greg and their relationship, she could mask the pain she felt.

  Everything was moving along fine until she met Josh. Her world had shifted a little out of focus and she knew that Greg would not be able to shield her from the emotions that Josh had stirred.

  “What’s wrong with you, Becky?” Greg asked. “You’re staring at me. “You have been acting really weird for a week or so now.”

  “You sound like my father...” She shook her head and said quickly, “It’s school. I have this cramp in my leg and cheerleading tryouts are next semester, and I’m nervous about it.” Leaning into him, she felt his arm go around her. His fingertips brushed the front of her blouse innocently. She felt a quick rush from that, but Greg meant nothing by his touch so she did now dwell on the sensation.

  The band started and she grabbed Greg’s hand. “Let’s dance.”

  Three

  I

  They sat in the Chrysler parked in front of her house.

  “Greg,” she said

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What’s with you? You’re my girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So why did you ask?”

  “Do you think we’re like salt and pepper or apple pie and ice cream?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Do we go together?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean as a couple. Do we make a nice couple?”

  “Yes. What the hell is this about?”

  “We’ve… Things just…aren’t… Oh, Christ.” She rubbed her thigh through her skirt.