The following night, Amy and I went for a walk to the birch tree and Carter and Rene drove away in his car— “to see a movie,” he said. When he returned to The Cave, very late, he pulled me from my bunk and made me dress and follow him to the swimming pool.

He flopped in a lounge chair and lit a cigarette and said in an astonished whisper, “I got it, Bobo. Right up there on Make-Out Road, I got it. Oh, man, it was great. She’s crazy about me. First time I ever thought about marrying anybody, but she could be the one.”

I stammered that I was glad for him.

He leaned his head toward me. “Tell you the honest-to-God’s truth, Bobo, it was the first time for me.”

He grinned at my startled look.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” he confessed. “All those stories. So I lied. I’m a boy. Boys lie about things like that. But not tonight. Bobo, she was so turned on, I thought I was going to have to hose her down.” He drew from his cigarette and whirled a large, blue lariat of smoke into the air. “First time for her, too,” he added confidently. “I thought she was going to bleed some, but she didn’t. Said she’d broken that thing—whatever they call it—riding a horse bareback. I don’t care, though. That horse did me a favor. I’m telling you, Bobo, I don’t know what got into her, but I’m glad it did. Maybe it was that old son of a bitch that came on to her.”

I never told Carter, or Amy, about the night with Rene, and I do not believe she talked about it, either.

But it was not a secret.

Not as Avrum had described a secret.

It did not lift up and it did not bring down.

If anything, it was a childish lie for both of us.

CHAPTER

21
 

THE RABBI, A SMALL, GENTLE-FACED MAN NAMED NORMAN GOLD, was sitting uncomfortably in the lobby of the Inn, talking to Lila. His discomfort was over Lila’s dress—a white, low-cut pullover with matching pants. The pullover and the pants were as tight as a body stocking on Lila. The tops of her breasts glistened from lotion.

The rabbi had been waiting for an hour to speak to me, Lila explained, chiding me for being gone so long. She excused herself and went into the dining room to review the menus for the weekend.

I apologized to Norman Gold. “I wish I had known you were here. I’ve been next door, having coffee with an old friend.”

“Oh, please,” he said, “it’s I who need to beg forgiveness, stopping by like this.”

“It’s fine,” I told him. And then I asked the unnecessary, but polite, question: “What can I do for you?”