things without offending. "So you bring any old clothes along for this thing?" she asked him.
Eddie shook his head. "I don't have a thing left from back then. I'll have to depend on Woody's sartorial taste—which may be dangerous. How about you?"
"Still got my fatigues."
Eddie chuckled. "You mean that old camouflage suit?"
"Don't laugh, honey. You can't fight a war against the imperialist, racist pigs without the proper uniform. Besides, a lot of revolutionary anger got sweated into those threads. Who knows, I put 'em on, I might feel like offin ' Whitey again." She turned and looked at Eddie solemnly. "Maybe you better watch your ass."
Then they both began to howl. Eddie laughed until tears came, and Sharla pounded the steering wheel as they drove on to Iselin.
~*~
"Town's sure changed," Judy McDonald observed as Curly Rider drove down Lincoln. Curly had flown to Pittsburgh from Los Angeles the night before, then picked up Judy at the airport in the morning. "Do you get back here at all?"
"Came to homecoming about ten years ago, but that's it. With my business, things come up."
"What do you do? Commercials?"
"Some. A lot of corporate films and videos. I try to keep the company small. That way I get to do everything. You and Frank get back much?"
"No. It's been ages." She sighed. "And now we come all the way back for a costume party."
Curly turned the car left onto Ninth Street, then pulled into the parking lot, where he saw two men muscling a beer keg out of an English Brothers Beverages truck. "Hot damn, a kegger ," he said.
They preceded the men up the stairs and knocked on the apartment door. Frank opened it, but instead of letting them in, he stepped into the hall and closed the door, then kissed Judy and shook Curly's hand. "Sorry," he said, "but Woody doesn't want anybody seeing the place before tonight."
"Oh," said Judy, "and I suppose he's going to get all the food and drink ready himself?"
"Don't worry about that," Frank said, and grinned. "Here comes some of the drink now."
The two men had the keg in the entryway on the hand truck. "These steps gonna hold?" one called up.
"They never broke before," Frank said. "Let us get down first, okay? Don't want the whole building falling on us too."
"Where are we going now?" asked Curly when they were in the parking lot.
"The motel," Frank said. "I'll make sure everybody's here and has their clothes, and then we can have dinner."
"Good, I'm starved," said Judy. "How about Bruno's?”
“Great," said Curly. "They used to make the best manicotti in western Pennsylvania."
Frank led the way to the cars. "Maybe the rest will want to join us."
"How about Woody?" said Judy.
"No, he's too excited to eat. He'll see us tonight."
~*~
I should have kept them apart, Woody thought. I should have arranged it so that the first time they all saw each other was here.
He sat on the floor, his back against the sofa, looking at his handiwork. There were only a few more things to do—light the incense and the candles wedged in the Mateus bottles, put the ice and fruit in the sangria, set out the chips and the pretzels, all the things that Tracy would help him with . . .
No, that wasn't right, was it? Tracy wasn't here. Tracy was still dead.
He thought about putting on a record, then decided against it. Wait till they come. He couldn't do it alone.
Do what? he wondered. Go back?
"Shit," he said aloud. You couldn't go back. It was a party, that was all, remember, just a party.
And then he thought that it was all right, that he shouldn't have kept them apart after all, that the first things they would want to talk about were what they had been doing since they last saw each other, and they would show the pictures of their children who hadn't existed in 1969, and tell about their jobs and what happened to their parents who the others would maybe remember, probably not, and it could go on for hours like that, and better to have them do that over dinner at Bruno's or the
Eddie shook his head. "I don't have a thing left from back then. I'll have to depend on Woody's sartorial taste—which may be dangerous. How about you?"
"Still got my fatigues."
Eddie chuckled. "You mean that old camouflage suit?"
"Don't laugh, honey. You can't fight a war against the imperialist, racist pigs without the proper uniform. Besides, a lot of revolutionary anger got sweated into those threads. Who knows, I put 'em on, I might feel like offin ' Whitey again." She turned and looked at Eddie solemnly. "Maybe you better watch your ass."
Then they both began to howl. Eddie laughed until tears came, and Sharla pounded the steering wheel as they drove on to Iselin.
~*~
"Town's sure changed," Judy McDonald observed as Curly Rider drove down Lincoln. Curly had flown to Pittsburgh from Los Angeles the night before, then picked up Judy at the airport in the morning. "Do you get back here at all?"
"Came to homecoming about ten years ago, but that's it. With my business, things come up."
"What do you do? Commercials?"
"Some. A lot of corporate films and videos. I try to keep the company small. That way I get to do everything. You and Frank get back much?"
"No. It's been ages." She sighed. "And now we come all the way back for a costume party."
Curly turned the car left onto Ninth Street, then pulled into the parking lot, where he saw two men muscling a beer keg out of an English Brothers Beverages truck. "Hot damn, a kegger ," he said.
They preceded the men up the stairs and knocked on the apartment door. Frank opened it, but instead of letting them in, he stepped into the hall and closed the door, then kissed Judy and shook Curly's hand. "Sorry," he said, "but Woody doesn't want anybody seeing the place before tonight."
"Oh," said Judy, "and I suppose he's going to get all the food and drink ready himself?"
"Don't worry about that," Frank said, and grinned. "Here comes some of the drink now."
The two men had the keg in the entryway on the hand truck. "These steps gonna hold?" one called up.
"They never broke before," Frank said. "Let us get down first, okay? Don't want the whole building falling on us too."
"Where are we going now?" asked Curly when they were in the parking lot.
"The motel," Frank said. "I'll make sure everybody's here and has their clothes, and then we can have dinner."
"Good, I'm starved," said Judy. "How about Bruno's?”
“Great," said Curly. "They used to make the best manicotti in western Pennsylvania."
Frank led the way to the cars. "Maybe the rest will want to join us."
"How about Woody?" said Judy.
"No, he's too excited to eat. He'll see us tonight."
~*~
I should have kept them apart, Woody thought. I should have arranged it so that the first time they all saw each other was here.
He sat on the floor, his back against the sofa, looking at his handiwork. There were only a few more things to do—light the incense and the candles wedged in the Mateus bottles, put the ice and fruit in the sangria, set out the chips and the pretzels, all the things that Tracy would help him with . . .
No, that wasn't right, was it? Tracy wasn't here. Tracy was still dead.
He thought about putting on a record, then decided against it. Wait till they come. He couldn't do it alone.
Do what? he wondered. Go back?
"Shit," he said aloud. You couldn't go back. It was a party, that was all, remember, just a party.
And then he thought that it was all right, that he shouldn't have kept them apart after all, that the first things they would want to talk about were what they had been doing since they last saw each other, and they would show the pictures of their children who hadn't existed in 1969, and tell about their jobs and what happened to their parents who the others would maybe remember, probably not, and it could go on for hours like that, and better to have them do that over dinner at Bruno's or the
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