It's like this, cat Part 4

"That all you can say? So she says, well, she might, if she can get her girl friend to come too, but she doesn't want to come alone, and her mother wouldn't let her anyway."

"Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Which girl friend?"

"Oh. You remember, the other one we were kidding around with at the beach, the redhead. So I said, O.K., I'd see if I could get you to come too. I said I'd call her back."

"Hmp. I don't know."

"What d'you mean, you don't know?"

"How do I know if I like that girl? I hardly even _talked_ to her. Anyway, it sounds like a date. I don't want a date. If they just happen to come over, I guess it's all right."

"So shall I tell them it's O.K. for Sat.u.r.day?"

"Hmm."

"It's nice you learned a new word."

"Do I have to pay for the girl at the movies?"

"Cheapskate. Maybe if you just stand around saying 'Hmm,' she'll buy her own. O.K.?"

"O.K. But this whole thing is your idea, and if it stinks it's going to be your fault."

"Boy, what an enthusiast! Come on, let's play a record and do the math."

Nick is better at math than I am, so I agree.

Sat.u.r.day morning at ten o'clock Nick turns up at my house in a white s.h.i.+rt and slicked-down hair. Pop whistles. "On Sat.u.r.day, yet! You got a girl or something?"

"Yessir!" says Nick, and he gives my T-s.h.i.+rt a dirty look. I go put a sweater over it and run a comb through my hair, but I'm hanged if I'll go out looking like this is a big deal.

"We're going to a movie down at the Academy," I tell my family.

"What's there?" Pop asks.

"A new horror show," says Nick. "And an old Disney."

"Is it really a new horror show?" I ask Nick, because I think I've seen every one that's been in town.

"Yup. Just opened. _The Gold Bug._ Some guy wrote it-I mean in a book once-but it's supposed to be great. Make the girls squeal anyway. I love that."

"Hmm." I just like horror shows anyway, whether girls squeal or not.

"You'll be the life of the party with that 'Hmm' routine."

"It's _your_ party." I shrug.

"Well, you could at least _try_."

We hang around the subway kiosk on Fourteenth Street, where Nick said he'd meet them. After half an hour they finally show up.

It's nice and sunny, and we see a crowd bunched up over in Union Square, so we wander over. A s.h.a.ggy-haired, bearded character is making a speech all about "They," the bad guys. A lot of sleepy b.u.ms are sitting around letting the speech roll off their ears.

"What is he, a nut or something?" the blonde asks.

"A Commie, maybe," I say. "They're always giving speeches down here.

Willie Sutton, the bank robber, used to sit down here and listen, too.

That's where somebody put the finger on him."

The girls look at each other and laugh like crazy, as if I'd said something real funny. I catch Nick's eye and glare. O.K., I _tried_. After this I'll stick to "Hmm."

A beard who is listening to the speech turns and glares at us and says, "Shus.h.!.+"

"Aw, go shave yourself!" says Nick, and the girls go off in more hoots.

Nick starts herding them toward Fourteenth Street, and I follow along.

At the Academy Nick goes up to the ticket window, and the girls immediately fade out to go read the posters and snicker together. I can see they're not figuring to pay for any tickets, so I cough up for two.

Nick and I try to saunter up to the balcony the way we always do, but the girls are giggling and dropping their popcorn, so the matron spots us and motions. "Down here!" She flashes her light in our eyes, and I feel like a convict while we get packed in with all the kids in the under-sixteen section.

Nick goes in first, then the blonde, then the redhead and me. The minute things start getting scary, she tries to grab me, but I stick my hands in my pockets and say, "Aw, it's just a picture." She looks disgusted.

The next scary bit, she tries to hang onto her girl friend, but the blonde is already glued onto Nick. Redhead lets out a loud sigh, and I wish I hadn't ever got into this deal. I can't even enjoy the picture.

We suffer through the two pictures. The little kids make such a racket you can hardly hear, and the matron keeps s.h.i.+ning the light in your eyes so you can't see. She s.h.i.+nes it on the blonde, who is practically sitting in Nick's lap, and hisses at her to get back. I'm not going to do this again, ever.

We go out and Nick says, "Let's have a c.o.ke." He's walking along with the blonde, and instead of walking beside me the redhead tries to catch hold of his other arm. This sort of burns me up. I mean, I don't really _like_ her, but I paid for her and everything.

Nick shakes her off and calls over his shoulder to me, "Come on, chicken, pull your own weight!"

The girls laugh, on cue as usual, and I begin getting really sore. Nick got me into this. The least he can do is shut up.

We walk into a soda bar, and I slap down thirty cents and say, "Two c.o.kes, please."

"Hey, hey! The last of the big spenders!" says Nick. More laughter. I'd just as soon sock him right now, but I pick up my money and say, "O.K., wise guy, treat's on you." Nick shrugs and tosses down a buck as if he had hundreds of them.

The two girls drink their c.o.kes and talk across Nick. I finish mine in two or three gulps, and finally we can walk them to the subway. Nick is gabbing away about how he'll come out to Coney one weekend, and I'm standing there with my hands in my pockets.

"Goo'bye, Bashful!" coos the redhead to me, and the two of them disappear, cackling, down the steps. I start across Fourteenth Street as soon as the light changes, without bothering to look if Nick is coming. He can go rot.

Along Union Square he's beside me, acting as if everything is peachy fine dandy. "That was a great show. Pretty good fun, huh?"

I just keep walking.