Free Dog Tags by Stephen Becker Page A

the doorman. All the same, a little pin money.” Amos had lavished his all upon them: fifty shares of General Motors, fifty of Jersey Standard, a year’s lease of a small flat on Riverside Drive, a view of the Hudson, elevators, beige corridors, incinerators. “Dunhill’s,” Sylvia said. “Don’t touch those stocks,” Amos ordered. “Solid gold. Put the profits back in.” Benny agreed. Romance, romance, where is romance? Am I burned out at twenty-five? No. Full of aunts and uncles and funeral baked meats. Christ Almighty. Weddings. A barbarism. A rotten full belly now and doubtless his breath stank. “Gimbel’s?” Sylvia said. Jacob stood forlorn, and Benny’s cup, his stirrup cup, a cup of sudden grief, ran over: man’s lot was loneliness. He threw an arm across Jacob’s shoulders. Jacob blinked through tears; one trickled down the sharp nose. “I’m leaving you again,” Benny said quietly, and Jacob nodded. Benny hugged him: “I’ll give you grandchildren.” Jacob brightened. “I’ll be a baby-sitter,” Jacob said. “You can teach them pinochle,” Benny said.
    Carol emerged, a vision, bright, frightened, the Aztec maiden breathless beneath the obsidian knife. Benny went to her and kissed her gently. Sylvia wept at last. Amos cleared his throat. Jacob hung back, diffident, and Carol went to him and embraced him, with a glance at Benny; she knew, and in that moment Benny gave her all the heart. Jacob patted her shoulder. “A lovely couple,” he said. “Never a prettier couple. L’chayim. A thousand years.” “Ten thousand years,” Amos trumped. “Banzai.”
    The newlyweds left them, Benny with a last easy wink for Jacob, and rode downstairs to a rented Ford, and drove north in quiet silence. At a red light Benny kissed Carol again, and she seized him. “Thank God,” she almost sobbed. “Let’s never get married again. Let’s never go back.”
    â€œYou too?” Benny laughed in giddy joy. “I thought you’d love it. All that silly fuss. All those people. Monsters. Here comes the bride.”
    â€œI love you truly,” she gasped. “Tell you one thing about relatives.”
    â€œTell me.”
    â€œThey make the groom look good.” She snuggled. “Let’s go to Australia.”
    Happiness ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed. Benny drove and dreamed, squeezed her thigh, blessed his luck, subdued his lust. Late summer, and the thickets beside the highway gleamed rich green, lush and heavy, dales and glens, love nests; crows picked at a dead cat, glared balefully, flapped and glided; the sun rode westward. Benny mused upon the night to come, the adventure, the unknown; upon many nights to come; his breath quickened. My God, what a chance to take! One woman forever! He resolved to be tender. She knew so little. She was his to teach. Doctor Professor Beer. Never a cold bed, he thought fiercely. Never! He angled into a service station, stalled, set the brake and embraced her; frantically they kissed, lovingly he cupped her breasts. “Let’s get arrested,” he said. She giggled and broke free. As a gangling attendant emerged they roared off, laughing wildly. Never a cold bed, he thought. One hundred and seven ways to make love. You lecher. This pure bride, and you plot her ruin. Doctor Professor Beer will lecture on the Kamasutra, with slides. Eminent practitioner of Jewish acupuncture. A dirty, dirty man! He groaned at his depravity.
    â€œWhat was that? Regret?”
    â€œImpatience.”
    â€œWhy sir, what have you in mind? I little thought, when I accepted this ride—”
    â€œAll in good time, my child.” She was silent, and he went on, “It’s fun, you know. It’s the most fun there is.”
    â€œBetter than mah-jongg?”
    â€œI may beat you,” he said.
    And so they voyaged to a