Free Imaginary Men by Enid Shomer

Paul. What does his father do? He's a Jewish boy?"
"Yes. His father drives a cab."
"A taxi driver?"
"They're very poor. His mother can't work. She's an invalid. She got polio right after Paul was born. She has an awful limp and a bad lung."
"A shame," Pop said. "He's smart?"
Riva told him about the debate contest and how hard Paul had worked all his life. He listened attentively. "You love him? You're going to marry him?"
"I'm too young to marry anybody," Riva said. It was the one area where she and her grandfather would never see eye to eye. While he celebrated her triumphs at school, he would never really be relaxed about her future until she married.
"All right. I'll do it. Call Nancy with the details."
Riva jumped up and kissed him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"He'll take charity, your Paul?"
"He doesn't know about it yet. I hope I can make him accept it.
He'll probably want to repay you someday. He has a lot of pride."
"I hope so, if only for your sake."
"Pop? Can we keep this a secret? I don't want anybody else in the family to know. It might be embarrassing later."

 

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Riva's family had memories like elephants, especially for foibles and mistakes. The only way you could live something down with them was to be reincarnated. If she did end up marrying Paul, it would be bad enough when her family learned how disreputable the Auerbachs were. That would be soon enough for them to begin doubting Paul. Riva was certain that Paul's noble character had survived and maybe even been honed by his terrible family, but she knew how adults saw these things. They wouldn't praise him for overcoming so many handicaps; they would wait for the day when the offspring reverted to type, when the ugly head of the parent reared up in the child.
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Paul lived in a small apartment building in a neighborhood tucked between a Trailways bus terminal and a complex of warehouses. Tonight, when she arrived, Riva was relieved that Mr. Auerbach's cab wasn't anywhere in sight. The parking lot was brightly lit, but the stairs to the entrance were dark, and the hallway smelled rank. The Auerbachs lived on the ground floor. Their living room was full of black vinyl furniture and cheap pole lamps. Everything in it was ugly except for the afghans that Mrs. Auerbach crocheted and draped over the furniture.
If she had called first tonight, Paul would have wanted to meet her someplace. She wanted him to know she didn't care where he lived or who his father was. She wanted to tell him about Pop Goldring. She would tell his mother, too, if she felt like it. There would be nothing any of them could do to ruin it. The airline ticket was in Paul's name. Nancy, Pop's secretary, had reserved a room at the Gunter Hotel, and when Paul tried to settle the bill, he would find that it was already paid.
Paul was embarrassed at first to hear her news. Then he was very grateful. Afterward, he followed her home in his car. They told Mrs. Stern they were going to the Hot Shoppe for a snack. She and Paul went to the park.
"How can I ever pay you back? It worries me, Riva. Money between friends can lead to problems." He was carefully unbuttoning her blouse.
"What kind of problems?"

 

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"I don't know exactly. I know my father hasn't got a friend left in the world, and they've all helped him."
"You're not your father."
He buried his head between her breasts, then rolled from one to the other, kissing. He had the softest lips of any human being alive and a tongue like a sweet little animal. "Oh God," he moaned, "I love you so much. You'll never know how much it means to have your love."
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Before he went to San Antonio, Paul spent every spare minute beefing up his debate skills on the assigned topic: Should the U.S. Recognize Castro's Cuba? Three-by-five index cards accumulated in drifts on his desk in study hall. Paul would be called upon to argue both sides. That was the thing about being a good debateryou had to