The Hotel New Hampshire Part 40

'You shouldn't run in the park at night, John,' Lilly said, worriedly.

'I ran up Fifth Avenue,' I said. 'It was perfectly safe.'

'Perfectly safe,' Franny said, bursting out laughing.

'What's the matter with her?' Lilly asked me, staring at Franny.

'I think it's the luckiest day of my life,' Franny said, still giggling.

'It's been just a little event among so many for me,' I told her, and Franny threw a dinner roll at me. We both laughed.

'Jesus G.o.d,' Lilly said, exasperated with us - and seemingly revolted by the amount of food we had ordered.

'We could could have had a most unhappy life,' Franny said. 'I mean, all of us!' she added, attacking the salad with her fingers; I opened the first bottle of wine. have had a most unhappy life,' Franny said. 'I mean, all of us!' she added, attacking the salad with her fingers; I opened the first bottle of wine.

'I still might might have an unhappy life,' Lilly said, frowning. 'If I have many more days like today,' she added, shaking her head. have an unhappy life,' Lilly said, frowning. 'If I have many more days like today,' she added, shaking her head.

'Sit down and dig in, Lilly,' said Franny, who sat down at the room service table and started in on the fish.

'Yes, you don't eat enough, Lilly,' I told her, helping myself to the frogs' legs.

'I had lunch today,' Lilly said. 'It was a rather gross lunch, too,' she said. 'I mean, the food was all right but the portions were too big. I only need to eat one meal a day,' Lilly said, but she sat down at the table with us and watched us eat. She picked an especially slender green bean out of Franny's salad, eating half of it and depositing the other half on my b.u.t.ter plate; she picked up a fork and poked at my frogs' legs, but I could tell she was just restless - she didn't want any.

'So what did you write today, Franny?' Lilly asked her. Franny had her mouth full, but she didn't hesitate.

'A whole novel,' Franny said. 'It was truly terrible, but it was something I just had to do. When I finished it, I threw it away.'

'You threw it away?' Lilly asked. 'Maybe some of it was worth saving.'

'It was all s.h.i.t,' Franny said. 'Every word. John read a little of it,' Franny said, 'but I made him give it back so I could throw the whole thing out. I called room service and had them come pick it up.'

'You had room service throw it away for you?' Lilly said.

'I couldn't stand to even touch it any longer,' Franny said.

'How many pages was it?' Lilly asked.

'Too many,' Franny said.

'And what did you think of what you you read of it?' Lilly asked me. read of it?' Lilly asked me.

'Trash,' I said. 'There's only one author in our family.'

Lilly smiled, but Franny kicked me under the table; I spilled some wine and Franny laughed.

'I'm glad you have confidence in me,' Lilly said, 'but whenever I read the ending of The Great Gatsby The Great Gatsby, I have my doubts. I mean, that's just so beautiful,' Lilly said. 'I think that if I can't ever write an ending ending that perfect, then there's no point in that perfect, then there's no point in beginning beginning a book, either. There's no point in writing a book if you don't a book, either. There's no point in writing a book if you don't think think it can be as good as it can be as good as The Great Gatsby The Great Gatsby. I mean, it's all right if you fail - if the finished book just isn't, somehow, very good - but you have to believe it can can be very good before you start. And sometimes that d.a.m.n ending to be very good before you start. And sometimes that d.a.m.n ending to The Great Gatsby The Great Gatsby just wipes me out before I can get started,' Lilly said; her little hands were fists, and Franny and I realized that Lilly clutched what was left of a dinner roll in one of them. Lilly didn't like to eat, but she could somehow manage to mangle a whole meal while deriving no nourishment from it, whatsoever. just wipes me out before I can get started,' Lilly said; her little hands were fists, and Franny and I realized that Lilly clutched what was left of a dinner roll in one of them. Lilly didn't like to eat, but she could somehow manage to mangle a whole meal while deriving no nourishment from it, whatsoever.

'Lilly, the worrier,' Franny said. 'You've got to just do do it, Lilly,' Franny told her, kicking me under the table again as she said 'do it.' it, Lilly,' Franny told her, kicking me under the table again as she said 'do it.'

I would go back to 222 Central Park South a wounded man. In fact, I wouldn't realize until after our enormous meal was over that I was in no condition to run for about twenty blocks and a zoo; I doubted that I could even walk. My private parts were in considerable pain. I saw Franny grimace when she got up from the table to get her purse; she was suffering the aftermath of our excesses, too - it was just as she had planned, of course: we would feel the pain of our lovemaking for days. And that pain would keep us sane; the pain would convince us both that awaiting us in this particular pursuit of each other was our certain self-destruction.

Franny found some money for a cab in her purse; when she gave me the money, she gave me a very chaste and sisterly kiss. To this day - between Franny and me - no other kind of kiss will do. We kiss each other now the way I imagine most brothers and sisters kiss. It may be dull, but it's a way to keep pa.s.sing the open windows.

And when I left the Stanhope - on that night shortly before Christmas, 1964 - I felt truly safe, for the first time. I felt fairly sure that all of us would keep pa.s.sing the open windows - that we were all survivors. I guess, now, that Franny and I had been thinking only of each other, we had been thinking a little too selfishly. I think Franny felt that her invulnerability was infectious - most people who are inclined toward feelings of invulnerability do do think this way, you know. And I tended to try to follow Franny's feelings, as exactly as I could manage. think this way, you know. And I tended to try to follow Franny's feelings, as exactly as I could manage.

I caught a cab going downtown at about midnight and rode it down Fifth Avenue to Central Park South; despite the agony of my private parts, I was sure I could walk to Frank's from there. Also, I wanted to look at the Christmas decorations in front of the Plaza. I thought of walking just a little out of my way so that I could look at the toys displayed in the windows of F. A. O. Schwarz. I thought of how Egg would have loved those windows; Egg had never been to New York. But, I thought, Egg had probably imagined better windows, full of more toys, all the time.

I limped along Central Park South. Number 222 is between the East Side and the West, but nearer to the West - a perfect place for Frank, I was thinking; and for us all, for all of us were the survivors of the Symposium on East-West Relations.

There is a photograph of Freud - of the other other Freud - in his apartment in Vienna at 19 Bergga.s.se. He is fifty-eight; it is 1914. Freud has an I-told-you-so sort of stare; he looks both cross and worried. He looks as emphatic as Frank and as anxious as Lilly. The war that would begin in August of that year would destroy the Austro-Hungarian Empire; that war would also convince Herr Professor Doktor Freud that his diagnosis of the aggressive and self-destructive tendencies in human beings had been quite correct. In the photograph one can imagine where Freud got his idea that the human nose was 'a genital formation.' Freud got that idea 'from the mirror,' as Frank says. I think Freud hated Vienna; to his credit, Freud - in his apartment in Vienna at 19 Bergga.s.se. He is fifty-eight; it is 1914. Freud has an I-told-you-so sort of stare; he looks both cross and worried. He looks as emphatic as Frank and as anxious as Lilly. The war that would begin in August of that year would destroy the Austro-Hungarian Empire; that war would also convince Herr Professor Doktor Freud that his diagnosis of the aggressive and self-destructive tendencies in human beings had been quite correct. In the photograph one can imagine where Freud got his idea that the human nose was 'a genital formation.' Freud got that idea 'from the mirror,' as Frank says. I think Freud hated Vienna; to his credit, our our Freud hated Vienna, too, as Franny was the first to point out. Franny also hated Vienna; she would always be a Freudian in her contempt for s.e.xual hypocrisy, for example. And Frank would be a Freudian in the sense that he was anti-Strauss - 'the Freud hated Vienna, too, as Franny was the first to point out. Franny also hated Vienna; she would always be a Freudian in her contempt for s.e.xual hypocrisy, for example. And Frank would be a Freudian in the sense that he was anti-Strauss - 'the other other Strauss,' Frank would note; he meant Johann, the very Viennese Strauss, the one who wrote that dippy song: 'Happy is the man who forgets what he cannot change' ( Strauss,' Frank would note; he meant Johann, the very Viennese Strauss, the one who wrote that dippy song: 'Happy is the man who forgets what he cannot change' (Die Fledermaus). But both our Freud and the other Freud were morbidly obsessed with what was forgotten - they were interested in what was repressed, in what we dreamed. That made them both very un un-Viennese. And our Freud had called Frank a prince; Freud had said that no one should call Frank 'queer'; the other Freud had also endeared himself to Frank - when some mother wrote the good doctor and begged him to cure her son of his h.o.m.os.e.xuality, Freud brusquely informed her that h.o.m.os.e.xuality was not a disease; there was nothing to 'cure.' Many of the world's great men, the great Freud told this mother, had been h.o.m.os.e.xuals.

'That's right on target!' Frank was fond of shouting. 'Just look at me!'

'And look at me me,' Susie the bear used to say. 'Why didn't he mention some of the world's great women women? If you ask me,' Susie used to say, 'Freud's a little suspect.'

'Which Freud, Susie?' Franny would tease her. Freud, Susie?' Franny would tease her.

'Either one,' Susie the bear used to say. 'Take your pick. One of them carried a baseball bat, one of them had that thing on his lip.'

'That was cancer, Susie,' Frank pointed out, rather stiffly.

'Sure,' said Susie the bear, 'but Freud called it "this thing on my lip." He didn't call cancer cancer, but he called everyone else else repressed.' repressed.'

'You're too hard on Freud, Susie,' Franny told her.

'He's a man man, isn't he?' Susie said.

'You're too hard on men men, Susie,' Franny told her.

'That's right, Susie,' Frank said. 'You ought to try try one!' one!'

'How about you you, Frank?' Susie asked him, and Frank blushed.

'Well,' Frank stammered, 'that's not the way I go - to be perfectly frank.'

'I think there's just someone else inside you, Susie,' Lilly said. 'There's someone else inside you who wants to get out.'

'Oh boy,' Franny groaned. 'Maybe there's a bear bear inside her that wants to get out!' inside her that wants to get out!'

'Maybe there's a man man inside her!' Frank suggested. inside her!' Frank suggested.

'Maybe just a nice woman is inside you, Susie,' Lilly said. Lilly, the writer, would always try to see the heroes in us all.

That night shortly before Christmas, 1964, I painfully inched my way along Central Park South; I started thinking about Susie the bear, and I remembered another photograph of Freud - Sigmund Sigmund Freud - that I was fond of. In this one, Freud is eighty; in three years he would be dead. He is sitting at his desk at 19 Bergga.s.se; it is 1936 and the n.a.z.is would soon make him abandon his old study in his old apartment - and his old city, Vienna. In this photograph, a pair of no-nonsense eyegla.s.ses are seriously perched on the genital formation of Freud's nose. He is not looking at the camera - he is eighty years old, and he hasn't much time; he is looking at his work, not wasting his time with us. Someone Freud - that I was fond of. In this one, Freud is eighty; in three years he would be dead. He is sitting at his desk at 19 Bergga.s.se; it is 1936 and the n.a.z.is would soon make him abandon his old study in his old apartment - and his old city, Vienna. In this photograph, a pair of no-nonsense eyegla.s.ses are seriously perched on the genital formation of Freud's nose. He is not looking at the camera - he is eighty years old, and he hasn't much time; he is looking at his work, not wasting his time with us. Someone is is looking at us in this photograph, however. It is Freud's pet dog, his chow named Jo-fi. A chow somewhat resembles a mutant lion; and Freud's chow has that glazed look of dogs who always stare stupidly into the camera. Sorrow used to do that; when he was stuffed, of course, Sorrow stared into the camera every time. And old Dr. Freud's little sorrowful dog is there in the photograph to tell us what's going to happen next; we might also recognize sorrow in the fragility of the knickknacks that are virtually crowding Freud out of his study, off 19 Bergga.s.se and out of Vienna (the city he hated, the city that hated him). The n.a.z.is would stick a swastika on his door; that d.a.m.n city never liked him. And on June 4, 1938, the eighty-two-year-old Freud arrived in London; he had a year left to live - in a foreign country. looking at us in this photograph, however. It is Freud's pet dog, his chow named Jo-fi. A chow somewhat resembles a mutant lion; and Freud's chow has that glazed look of dogs who always stare stupidly into the camera. Sorrow used to do that; when he was stuffed, of course, Sorrow stared into the camera every time. And old Dr. Freud's little sorrowful dog is there in the photograph to tell us what's going to happen next; we might also recognize sorrow in the fragility of the knickknacks that are virtually crowding Freud out of his study, off 19 Bergga.s.se and out of Vienna (the city he hated, the city that hated him). The n.a.z.is would stick a swastika on his door; that d.a.m.n city never liked him. And on June 4, 1938, the eighty-two-year-old Freud arrived in London; he had a year left to live - in a foreign country. Our Our Freud, at the time, was one summer away from getting fed up with Earl; he would return to Vienna at the time when all those repressed suicides of the Freud, at the time, was one summer away from getting fed up with Earl; he would return to Vienna at the time when all those repressed suicides of the other other Freud's day were turning into murderers. Frank has shown me an essay by a professor of history at the University of Vienna - a very wise man named Friedrich Heer. And that's just what Heer says about the Viennese society of Freud's time (and this may be true of Freud's day were turning into murderers. Frank has shown me an essay by a professor of history at the University of Vienna - a very wise man named Friedrich Heer. And that's just what Heer says about the Viennese society of Freud's time (and this may be true of either either Freud's time, I think): 'They were suicides about to become murderers.' They were all Fehlgeburts, trying hard to become Arbeiters; they were all Schraubenschlussels, admiring a p.o.r.nographer. Freud's time, I think): 'They were suicides about to become murderers.' They were all Fehlgeburts, trying hard to become Arbeiters; they were all Schraubenschlussels, admiring a p.o.r.nographer.

They were ready to follow the instructions of a p.o.r.nographer's dream.

'Hitler, you know,' Frank loves to remind me, 'had a rabid dread of syphilis. This is ironic,' Frank points out, in his tedious way, 'when you remind yourself that Hitler came from a country where prost.i.tution has always thrived.'

It thrives in New York, too, you know. And one winter night I stood at the corner of Central Park South and Seventh Avenue, looking into the darkness downtown; I knew the wh.o.r.es were down there. My own s.e.x tingled with pain from Franny's inspired efforts to save me - to save us both - and I knew, at last, that I was safe from them them; I was safe from both extremes, safe from Franny and safe from the wh.o.r.es.

A car took the corner at Seventh Avenue and Central Park South a little too fast; it was after midnight and this fast-moving car was the only car I could see moving on either street. A lot of people were in the car; they were singing along with a song on the radio. The radio was so loud that I could hear a very clear s.n.a.t.c.h of the song, even with the windows closed against the winter night. The song was not a Christmas carol, and it struck me as inappropriate to the decorations all over the city of New York, but Christmas decorations are seasonal and the song I heard just a s.n.a.t.c.h of was one of those universally bleeding-heart kind of Country and Western songs. Some trite-but-true thing was being tritely but truthfully expressed. I have been listening, for the rest of my life, for that song, but whenever I think I'm hearing it again, something strikes me as not quite the same. Franny teases me by telling me that I must have heard the Country and Western song called 'Heaven's Just a Sin Away.' And indeed, that one would do; almost any song like that would suffice.

There was just this s.n.a.t.c.h of a song, the Christmas decorations, the winter weather, my painful private parts - and my great feeling of relief, that I was free to live my life my life now - and the car that was moving too fast tore by me. When I started across Seventh Avenue, when it looked safe to cross, I looked up and saw the couple coming toward me. They were walking on Central Park South in the direction of the Plaza - they were headed west to east - and it was inevitable, I would later think, that we should have met in the middle of Seventh Avenue on the very night of Franny's and my own now - and the car that was moving too fast tore by me. When I started across Seventh Avenue, when it looked safe to cross, I looked up and saw the couple coming toward me. They were walking on Central Park South in the direction of the Plaza - they were headed west to east - and it was inevitable, I would later think, that we should have met in the middle of Seventh Avenue on the very night of Franny's and my own release release. They were a slightly drunk couple, I think - or at least the young woman was, and the way she leaned on the man made him weave a little, too. The woman was younger than the man; in 1964, at least, we would have called her a girl. She was laughing, hanging on her older boyfriend's arm; he looked about my age - actually he was a little older. He would have been in his late twenties on this night in 1964. The girl's laughter was as sharp and as splintering of the frigid night air as the sound of very thin icicles breaking away from the eaves of a house encased in winter. I was in a really good mood, of course, and although there was something too educated and insufficiently visceral in the girl's cold, tingling laughter - and although my b.a.l.l.s ached and my c.o.c.k stung - I looked up at this handsome couple and smiled.

We had no trouble recognizing each other - the man and I. I could never forget the quality of the quarterback in his face, though I had not seen him since that Halloween night on the footpath the football players always used - and everyone else would have been well advised to let let them use it, to let them have it for themselves. Some days when I was lifting weights, I could still hear him say, 'Hey, kid. Your sister's got the nicest a.s.s at this school. Is she banging anybody?' them use it, to let them have it for themselves. Some days when I was lifting weights, I could still hear him say, 'Hey, kid. Your sister's got the nicest a.s.s at this school. Is she banging anybody?'

'Yes, she's banging me me,' I could have told him that night on Seventh Avenue. But I didn't say anything to him. I just stopped and stood in front of him, until I was sure he knew who I was. He hadn't changed; he looked almost exactly as he'd always looked, to me. And although I thought I had had changed - I knew the weight lifting had at least changed my changed - I knew the weight lifting had at least changed my body body - I think that Franny's constant correspondence with him must have kept our family close to Chipper Dove's memory (if not close to his heart). - I think that Franny's constant correspondence with him must have kept our family close to Chipper Dove's memory (if not close to his heart).

Chipper Dove stopped in the middle of Seventh Avenue, too. After a second or two he said, softly, 'Well, look who's here.'

Everything is a fairy tale.

I looked at Chipper Dove's girl friend and said, 'Watch out he doesn't rape you.'

Chipper Dove's girl friend laughed - that high-strung, overstrenuous laugh like breaking ice, that laugh of little icicles shattering. Dove laughed a little bit with her. The three of us stayed in the middle of Seventh Avenue; a taxi heading downtown and turning off Central Park South almost killed us, but only the girl friend flinched - Chipper Dove and I didn't move.

'Hey, we're in the middle of the street, you know,' the girl said. She was a lot lot younger than he was, I noticed. She skipped to the east side of Seventh Avenue and waited for us, but we didn't move. younger than he was, I noticed. She skipped to the east side of Seventh Avenue and waited for us, but we didn't move.

'I've enjoyed hearing from Franny,' Dove said.

'Why haven't you written her back?' I asked him.

'Hey!' his girl friend screamed at us, and another taxi, turning downtown, blew its horn at us and dodged around us.

'Is Franny in New York, too?' Chipper Dove asked me.

In a fairy tale, you often don't know what the people want want. Everything had changed. I knew I didn't know if Franny wanted to see Chipper Dove or not. I knew I never knew what was in in the letters she'd written him. the letters she'd written him.

'Yes, she's in the city,' I said cautiously. New York is a big place, I was thinking; this felt safe.

'Well, tell her I'd like to see her,' he said, and he started to move around me. 'Can't keep this this girl waiting,' he whispered to me, conspiratorially; he actually winked at me. I caught him under the armpits and just picked him up; for a quarterback, he didn't weigh much. He didn't struggle, but he looked genuinely surprised at how easily I had lifted him. I wasn't sure what to do with him; I thought a minute - or it must have seemed like a minute to Chipper Dove - and then I put him back down. I simply placed him back in front of me in the middle of Seventh Avenue. girl waiting,' he whispered to me, conspiratorially; he actually winked at me. I caught him under the armpits and just picked him up; for a quarterback, he didn't weigh much. He didn't struggle, but he looked genuinely surprised at how easily I had lifted him. I wasn't sure what to do with him; I thought a minute - or it must have seemed like a minute to Chipper Dove - and then I put him back down. I simply placed him back in front of me in the middle of Seventh Avenue.

'Hey, you crazy guys!' his girl friend called; two cabs, appearing to be in a race with each other, pa.s.sed on either side of us - the drivers kept their hands on their horns for a long way, heading downtown.

'Tell me why why you would like to see Franny,' I told Chipper Dove. you would like to see Franny,' I told Chipper Dove.

'You've been doing a little work with the weights, I guess,' Dove said.

'A little,' I admitted. 'Why do you want to see my sister?' I asked him.

'Well, to apologize - among other things,' he mumbled, but I could never believe him him; he had that ice-blue smile in his ice-blue eyes. He seemed only slightly intimidated by my muscles; he had an arrogance larger than most people's hearts and minds.

'You could have answered just one of her letters,' I told him. 'You could have apologized in writing in writing, anytime.'

'Well,' he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like a quarterback settling himself, getting ready to receive the ball. 'Well, it's all so hard to say,' he said, and I almost killed him on the spot; I could take almost anything from him but sincerity sincerity - hearing him sound genuine was almost too much to bear. I felt a need to hug him - to hug him harder than I had hugged Arbeiter - but fortunately for both of us, he changed his tone. He was getting impatient with me. - hearing him sound genuine was almost too much to bear. I felt a need to hug him - to hug him harder than I had hugged Arbeiter - but fortunately for both of us, he changed his tone. He was getting impatient with me.

'Look,' he said. 'By the statute of limitations statute of limitations in in this this country, I'm clear - short of murder. Rape is short of murder, in case you don't know.' country, I'm clear - short of murder. Rape is short of murder, in case you don't know.'

'Just short,' I said. Another cab almost killed us. short,' I said. Another cab almost killed us.

'Chipper!' his girl friend was screaming. 'Shall I get the police?'

'Look,' Dove said. 'Just tell Franny I'd be happy to see her - that's all. Apparently,' he said, with the ice-blue in his eyes slipping into his voice, 'apparently she'd like to see me. I mean, she's written written me enough.' He was almost complaining about it, I thought - as if my sister's letters had been me enough.' He was almost complaining about it, I thought - as if my sister's letters had been tedious tedious for him! for him!

'If you want to see her, you can tell her yourself,' I told him. 'Just leave a message for her - leave the whole thing up to her her: if she wants to see you. Leave a message at the Stanhope,' I said.

'The Stanhope?' he said. 'She's just pa.s.sing through?'

'No, she lives there,' I said. 'We're a hotel family,' I told him. 'Remember?'

'Oh yes,' he laughed, and I could see him thinking that the Stanhope was a big step up from the Hotel New Hampshire - from either Hotel New Hampshire, though he'd only known the first one. 'Well,' he said, 'so Franny lives at the Stanhope.'

'We own own the Stanhope, now,' I told him. I have no idea why I lied, but I simply had to do the Stanhope, now,' I told him. I have no idea why I lied, but I simply had to do something something to him. He looked a little stunned, and that was at least a mildly pleasing moment; a green sports car came so close to him that his scarf was flapped by the sudden pa.s.sing wind. His girl friend ventured out in Seventh Avenue again; she cautiously approached us. to him. He looked a little stunned, and that was at least a mildly pleasing moment; a green sports car came so close to him that his scarf was flapped by the sudden pa.s.sing wind. His girl friend ventured out in Seventh Avenue again; she cautiously approached us.

'Chipper, please please,' she said softly.

'Is that the only hotel you own?' Dove asked me, trying to be cool about it.

'We own half of Vienna,' I told him. 'The controlling half. The Stanhope is just the first of many - in New York,' I told him. 'We're going to take over New York.'

'And tomorrow, the world?' he asked, that ice-blue lilt in his voice.

'Ask Franny all about it,' I said. 'I'll tell her she can expect to hear from you.' I had to walk away from him so I wouldn't hurt him, but I heard his girl friend ask him, 'Who's Franny?'

'My sister!' I called. 'Your friend raped her! He and two other guys gang-banged her!' I shouted. Neither Chipper Dove nor his girl friend laughed this time, and I left them in the middle of Seventh Avenue. If I'd heard the squeal of tires and brakes, and the thud of bodies making contact with metal, or with the pavement, I wouldn't have turned around. It was only when I recognized the pain in my private parts as actually belonging to me that I realized I had walked too far. I'd walked past 222 Central Park South - I was wandering around Columbus Circle - and I had to turn around and head east. When I saw Seventh Avenue again, I saw that Chipper Dove and his girl friend had gone. I even wondered, for a second, if I had only dreamed them.

I would have preferred to have dreamed them, I think. I was worried how Franny would handle it, how she might 'deal with it,' as Susie was always saying. I was worried about even mentioning to Franny that I had seen Chipper Dove. What would it mean to her, for example, if Dove never never called? It seemed unfair - that on the very evening of Franny's triumph, and mine, I had to meet her rapist and tell him where my sister lived. I knew I was out of my league, I was over my head - I was back to zero, I had called? It seemed unfair - that on the very evening of Franny's triumph, and mine, I had to meet her rapist and tell him where my sister lived. I knew I was out of my league, I was over my head - I was back to zero, I had no no idea what Franny wanted. I knew I needed some expert rape advice. idea what Franny wanted. I knew I needed some expert rape advice.

Frank was asleep; he was no rape expert, anyway. Father was also asleep (in the room I shared with him), and I looked at the Louisville Slugger on the floor by my father's bed and knew what Father's rape advice would be - I knew that any rape advice from Father would involve swinging that bat. I woke Father up taking off my running shoes.

'Sorry,' I whispered. 'Go back to sleep.'

'What a long run you had,' he groaned. 'You must be exhausted exhausted.'

I was, of course, but I was also wide-awake. I went and sat at the desk in front of Frank's six phones. The resident rape expert (in the second Hotel New Hampshire) was only a phone call away; the rape advice I wanted was actually residing in New York City now. Susie the bear was living in Greenwich Village. Although it was one o'clock in the morning, I picked up the phone. At last the issue had presented itself. It didn't matter that it was almost Christmas, 1964, because we were back to Halloween, 1956. All Franny's unanswered letters finally deserved an answer. Although Junior Jones's Black Arm of the Law would one day provide New York City with its admirable services, Junior was still recovering from the thug game of football; he would spend three years in law school, and he'd spend another six starting the Black Arm of the Law. Although Junior would would rescue Franny, he could be counted upon for his late arrivals. The issue of Chipper Dove had presented itself rescue Franny, he could be counted upon for his late arrivals. The issue of Chipper Dove had presented itself now now; although Harold Swallow had never found him, Dove was out of hiding now. And in dealing with Chipper Dove, I knew, Franny would need the help of a smart bear.

Good old Susie the bear is a fairy tale, all by herself.

When she answered her telephone at 1 A.M. she was like a boxer springing off the ropes.

'Dumb-f.u.c.k! Creep-of-the-night! Pervert! Do you know what time it is?' Susie the bear roared.

'It's me,' I said.

'Jesus G.o.d,' Susie said. 'I was expecting an obscene call.' When I told her about Chipper Dove, she decided it was was an obscene call. 'I don't think Franny's going to be happy that you told him where she lives,' Susie said. 'I think she wrote all those letters so she wouldn't ever hear from him again.' an obscene call. 'I don't think Franny's going to be happy that you told him where she lives,' Susie said. 'I think she wrote all those letters so she wouldn't ever hear from him again.'

Susie lived in a simply terrible place in Greenwich Village. Franny liked going down there to see her, and Frank occasionally dropped in - when he was in the vicinity (there was a very Frank-like bar around the corner from where Susie lived) - but Lilly and I hated the Village. Susie came uptown to see us.