36

The music for Pinecrest Manor’s Third Annual Beer Party was live.

The leader of the band was a man who sold insurance in the development. He played trumpet rather forlornly and was followed sadly by four musicians who had come all the way from Queens and who looked upon these suburban shenanigans somewhat dimly. In Queens, people knew how to live.

The musicians read their sheets but they didn’t play with any particular gumption because October was a sad month and besides this wasn’t even a union-scale job. Not that there was any danger of a union representative asking them for their cards at this obscure American Legion hall. But scale should have been $22.00 per man, with double for leader, and the band was getting only $22.00 per man, with the leader — because of his civic attachments — forsaking the double salary. And so, though the music was alive, it wasn’t very lively.

The musicians had arrived at 8:00 P.M. and were set up and tuned by eight-fifteen even though the party wasn’t scheduled to start until eight-thirty. A few early birds arrived on the dot. There were always, the musicians mused, a few early birds who arrived everywhere on the dot, as if unwilling to miss even a moment of the forthcoming festivities. The real exodus from Pinecrest Manor to the American Legion hall, however, did not begin until nine. By that time, all the baby sitters and mothers-in-law had received their detailed instructions.

There were, to be sure, some last-minute hassles with children in some of the development homes. But the children were being raised to understand that the night was a mysterious time of adult pleasures. Hadn’t Mummy and Daddy spent the whole day trying to make the kids happy, hadn’t they gone on all the rides at Joyland and eaten hot dogs and popcorn and had heaps of fun? So go to sleep, you little bastards. We don’t come to your parties, do we?

At nine o’clock, as if by prearranged signal, the front aluminum storm doors of the development ranches, Cape Cods, and split-levels opened. The women emerged smiling in their finery, and the men followed them to the cars. The sprinklers were going on the front lawns even though it was October already. The right to sprinkle was a God-given one which only reluctantly retreated before the approach of winter.

The sedans and the station wagons — of which many were in evidence — and the convertibles backed out on the concrete driveway strips and headed for town. There was a deep peace in the air over the development, an almost tangible feeling of heavy contentment. The street lights glowed warmly in the orderly streets. The lawns which had received their addict’s fix of 10-6-4 sparkled greenly under the glistening saturation of the sprinklers. There were warmth and beauty and bliss in Pinecrest Manor. On the front seats of the automobiles, the bottles of booze were wrapped in brown paper bags, the couples’ surnames inked onto the labels. There would be setups available at the American Legion hall. This was going to be a damn fine affair!

There was a lot of milling around in the entrance hallway, the couples who’d arrived alone trying to decide where they would sit and with whom. There was, too, the usual cloakroom bottleneck, but this was straightened out in time and it didn’t take long for friends to find friends. Chairs were pulled up to the long wooden tables, and everyone sat down in the cheerless wooden box which was the American Legion hall, and each neighbor looked at his neighbor with a patient, bored, anticipative expression which seemed to say, “Well, I’m here. Entertain me.” The men went for setups and then opened the whisky bottles. The band began playing. Drinks were poured. Chairs were shifted. Laughter resounded throughout the hall.

“Looks like a nice crowd,” Betty Anders said. The trumpet wailed into the room mournfully.

“It’s awfully hot in here, isn’t it?” Doris Ramsey asked.

A man rushing back to his table dropped a bottle of ginger ale. It hit the floor and shattered. Wild applause and cheering congratulated his clumsiness.

Fran Levy said, “I think they ought to have these things more often.”

“That’s a good idea,” Betty said. “We ought to suggest it to the Civic Association.”

“We need more ice,” Felix said, and he rose and left the table.

“I think this is going to be a big bore,” Doris said suddenly. She smiled. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“What the hell,” Max Levy said. “We’ll make our own fun.”

“We’ll have to,” Doris said.

“Everything is what you make it” Max said judiciously.

“We passed by a new development yesterday,” Arthur Garandi said. “Oakdale Acres. Mostly split-levels. They’ve got it laid out nice. Winding roads. Nice.”

“How much is the house?” Paul Ramsey asked.

“I think it’s sixteen nine-nine,” Arthur said. “I’m not sure. We didn’t stop.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Doris said.

“It always kills me when they say nine-nine,” Ramsey said. “What they really mean is seventeen thousand. Why don’t they say so?”

“It sounds cheaper the other way,” Mary Garandi said.

Felix came back to the table with a bucket of ice.

“Do you know what a lot of people are doing?” Max said. “They’re buying those big estates on the shore. Getting them for a song.”

“What’s a song?” Betty asked.

“Forty thousand. Something like that.”

“That’s a song, huh? Sing to me a little.”

“Those are white elephants,” Mary said. “Cost a fortune to heat.”

“Yes,” Felix said, entering the conversation, “but you get an awful lot of land and a really big house. Nineteen, twenty rooms.”

“Who needs so many rooms?” Mary asked. “Besides, why is everybody talking about other houses? Is anybody moving?”

“I guess it’s on everybody’s mind,” Felix said. “Now that Eve’s put up the house for sale.”

“That’s different,” Mary said. “What do you expect her to do? Stay here with the two kids? Without a man?”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Betty said. “It gives me the shivers.”

“Do you think she’ll be able to sell the house?” Max asked.

“No question,” Felix said. “These houses have a very good resale value. She’ll probably make a little money on the deal.”

“It’s a shame,” Mary said. “That poor woman. You never know when something like that is going to happen, do you? That poor woman.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Betty said.

Ramsey cleared his throat. “I’ve heard a little talk about Larry,” he said. “Not that I want to spread any rumors.”

“What kind of talk?” Max asked.

“Oh, just about what he was doing out in that storm,” Ramsey said.

“What do you mean?” Fran asked.

“Well, just talk,” Ramsey said, “and I don’t want to spread any rumors. But there was some mention of another woman.”

“You’re crazy,” Felix said immediately.

“I’m only saying what I heard.”

“Well, what you heard is wrong. I think I knew Larry better than any of you. Isn’t that right, Betty?”

“They spent a lot of time together,” Betty confirmed.

“And a straighter guy never existed,” Felix said. “I’d like to know who told you a thing like that, Paul.”

“What difference does it make? I just heard it around.”

“If I knew who told you that, I’d go over and tell that guy a thing or two, you can bet on that.”

“Forget it,” Ramsey said. “I just heard it around.”

“This was a real sweet man,” Felix said, “I’m not kidding you. I’ve met a lot of people in my life, but Larry Cole was one of the genuine real sweet men. I’d have done anything for that guy. All he had to do was ask. I’m not kidding. I mean it.”

“I didn’t know you were such close friends,” Max said.

“Well, who talks about friendship? It’s either there or it isn’t. But it burns me up how people can change a legitimate business trip — he was out in that damn storm on his way to see a client — into something with... with... hints of another woman! It just burns me up! Boy, sometimes I wonder where everybody’s mind is!”

“Well, forget it,” Ramsey said. “It was only something I heard.”

“You know how hard that guy worked? Do you think it’s easy to sit there on your own, without that steady salary coming in every week? He had to hustle for every cent he ever made. That’s what he was doing in that damn hurricane! Lining up another client so he could feed his family. You should have heard him when he talked about Eve and the kids. You should have seen his face! This guy was devoted! One of the real sweet people, believe me.”

“I always liked him,” Max said.

“It’s a shame,” Mary said. “A thing like that. Such a young man.”

“Listen, it makes no difference to me one way or the other,” Ramsey said. “I mean whether he was fooling around or not. Everybody else is doing it, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up, Paul,” Doris said.

“Well, he’s not exactly wrong, Doris,” Max said.

“Sex is here to stay.” Ramsey said, shrugging. “Let’s admit it.”

“That’s the right idea.” Max agreed, trying to raise the party out of the mud of morbidity.

“The right idea,” Fran scoffed. “My husband. The sex machine.”

“Who?” Max said, pretending to be offended.

“The sex machine with the missing part.”

“Who’s got a missing part?”

“Well, maybe not missing. But hard to find.”

Everyone laughed, and the laughter seemed to dispel any remaining remnants of the previous talk.

“Those people in Massachusetts who had those key parties knew what they were doing,” Ramsey said.