“Dowhatnow?” Susie asked.
“Get married, of course,” Fred said. “What else am I talking about?”
“Well,Idon’t know,” Susie said. “As this isn’t exactly the proposal of a woman’s dreams. ‘Let’s get married, becauseyou’ll be making money even if I’m not?’ Some romanticyouare.”
“Hey,” Fred said, “I’ll be working too. Sure, I break a few dishes at the restaurant now and then, but they haven’t fired me yet. And after I’ve graduated—well, we’ll need Marguerite to find us a house then, won’t we? They can’t get enough men up there at Moffett Field, and I’ve decided I like designing electrical systems for aircraft a whole lot better than riding in them. Once that happens, you can kiss that Home Ec class goodbye, because we’ll be off to the races.”
Susie had her hands on her hips. “Fred Bartholomew. I’ve worked too hard for that degree to give up my career just like that. What, you think I went to college just to catch a husband?”
“Nope.” Fred was grinning. “I’m hoping you went soIcould catchyou.And sure, honey, you can go on and teach girls to sew aprons. Who am I to stop you? But you seemed a little put off when I mentioned it, so …”
“Because this isn’t any kind of proposal!” Susie said. “It’s supposed to be a tender moment a woman remembers forever! What do I tell our kids someday? ‘Oh, it was so romantic. He was unscrewing a cabinet door in a filthy old apartment building—sorry, Marguerite—and he said, “Well, you’ll have a job, anyway, so let’s get married.”’ It doesn’t quite have that special ring to it, does it? Would Bing Crosby do it that way?”
“No,” Fred said. “But Cary Grant might, if it were one of those comic pictures. Humphrey Bogart would just growl, ‘We’re getting married and that’s that.’ Would you like that better?”
“Oh …” Susie said, but then Fred set down his cabinet door and came over to kiss her, and thatwasthat.
“So,” Fred said, when they’d come up for air—he still had his arm around Susie’s waist, though, and she was laughingand very pink in the face—“What do you folks say? Going to stand up with me, Joe, and make sure I don’t get cold feet and bolt for the door?”
“You bet,” Joe said. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you? What do you say we head on over to Peninsula Creamery once we’re done here and let Marguerite and me treat you two to burgers and malteds?” He sniffed at himself. “Maybe once I take a shower.”
“And you can tell Fred the story of howyouproposed,” said Susie, “and explain how it’s done.”
Joe looked at me, and I laughed. He offered Fred a wry grin and said, “I believe it was something like, ‘Well, we could get married, I guess. Wouldn’t that solve the problem?’ Upon which she turned me down flat for a whole lot of good reasons that I somehow forget at this moment. She may have burst into tears, too, and not in a good way. I’ve kind of blanked it out of the memory banks. It could be that GIs aren’t the most romantic guys on the planet.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “You proposed most lovingly. If rather spontaneously.”
“See?” Fred told Susie. “Lovingly and spontaneously. That’s me.”
“And,” said Joe, “we’ll be right by Weltner Pontiac when we go for those hamburgers, which means you can take a look at our new car. Marguerite needs it for her real-estate business, not to mention her property-buying business, because the woman is on some tear.”
“Do you know how to drive, Marguerite?” Susie asked.
“Not at all,” I said. “But everybody does it in America, even quite young teenagers, so it must not be very hard, I think.”
“Hmm,” Susie said. Her eyes were dancing again.Wasit hard, then? It had never seemed so when Joe did it.
Joe himself said, “I’ll be teaching her soon enough. Well, not exactly soon enough. You’ll be taking a look at the model,because we’re still nearly three months out. Who knew so many people would want a car after the end of the war?”
“Only about every single person who livedthroughthe war,” Susie said. “There you go, Fred. That’s another step for us to hunger for. Here’s a hint: put a big red bow on the thing and surprise me. And if you buy it used, for heaven’s sake, wash it first.”
“Now, you see,” Fred said, “that’s what I like. Clear instructions. Yes, ma’am.”
34
IN WHICH I AM INCOMPETENT
“No,” Joe said again, in what I’d begun to call his “Patient Voice.” I rather loathed this voice. “OK, we’ll start over. First, you put the key in the ignition.”
“I’m well aware of this step,” I said. We were in the vast and empty parking lot of the high school, and it was very early on a Sunday morning in late August. The perfect time for a driving lesson. “And then I give two pumps to the accelerator, as so.”
“Yep,” Joe said. “What next?”
“It would help,” I said, “if I could refer to my notes.”
“Well, you can’t,” Joe said. “You’re driving.”
“I know,” I said. “I was merely remarking. Next, the choke. I pull it all the way out, because the engine is cold, and this closes a plate in the carburetor, restricting the airflow and thus creating a fuel-rich mixture.”
