Chapter Two: Battey House

(The author's Thunderbird and Battey House, circa 1970

photo by Jack Miller)

Chapter 2: Battey House

The air was a hot broth in Ardsley Park a week after the Fourth of July. Air conditioners ran in every house, sucking out the hot air, but also
draining the energy of those who hid inside. What flowers remained on the lawns of the 1920s mansions of Abercorn and Washington Avenues had wilted. David drove his father’s ’63 Thunderbird south to 49th street and turned left down the moss-draped, oak-lined street. He passed the two-story, red brick elementary school where he and Skip had learned the first lessons of Southern society. He parked the car on Battey Street, across from the school and in front of the white, wood-frame mammoth structure in which he had grown up.

The house loomed over the neighborhood. A sycamore tree rose from the corner lot to just above the sloping tin roof. Untrimmed, overgrown azalea bushes, no longer in bloom, ringed the house. A white picket fence, rotting, ran from the back of the house to the corner of Battey and the circle of street encompassing the round park on 50th. The fence enclosed a dying mimosa tree and a garage apartment that threatened to collapse into the dirt lane that ran between 49th and 50th streets.
David hopped up the front brick steps, tried to open the locked wooden door to the house, then rang the shrill doorbell upstairs where his brother Skip would be. No answer. He rang again, letting the bell sound longer.
“Stop ringing that damn bell,” Skip yelled from the upstairs bathroom window.
“Why is the door locked?” David yelled back.
“I’ll be there in a second.”
David heard the toilet flush.
When it was built of cedar and heart of pine in the 1920s, Battey House had been a grand vertical duplex. David’s grandfather, Herman Jackson, had bought the house in the ’30s when his successful grocery business had provided enough money to move his wife Sibyl and Will, David’s father, from a small house on Price Street to affluent Ardsley Park. The Depression provided remarkable real estate deals. When David was born, his grandparents moved into the garage apartment, which Herman had built as a wedding present to Will and Betty, David’s mother, turning the twelve rooms of the downstairs half of the main house over to them. Herman died of colon cancer in 1962 after a long year of wasting away, and Sibyl followed him a year later, dying of a stroke and of grief over the loss of her husband. It was then that the house began its decline.
Betty and Will had met in the Air Force at the end of World War II. When Will made lieutenant, he had proposed. Betty wowed Will with descriptions of her grandfather’s plantation in Virginia, and Will led Betty to envision a future of prosperity, married to an officer and an attorney. By the time of David’s birth, two years later, both were disillusioned. The Virginia plantation was in truth but a poor tobacco farm. And Will’s illustrious career settled into the Air Force Reserve and a struggling law firm. During the 1950s, it was the grocery store, followed by a thriving package store, opened and run by Herman, that kept them all going.
Skip was Betty and Will’s last fully cooperative achievement. Before Skip was born, Will returned to active duty, as the Korean conflict erupted, and Betty spent a pregnant summer alone, dodging cockroaches and asking herself why on Earth she had agreed to live in “this fucking swamp.”
It had taken almost two decades before Will and Betty acknowledged they were incompatible. They divorced, Betty moved to an apartment downtown, and Will remarried -- a client whose own divorce he had handled -- and settled into Windsor Forest, white-flight suburbia well south of Ardsley Park. With David away at the University of Georgia, the vast, aging house became Skip’s by default.

Skip opened the front door and David followed him up the creaking steps to the second floor. The interior of the house was dark and damp. They entered the living room.
“Dad called. He said he might stop by.”
David walked to the stereo system and selected an old album by Simon and Garfunkle that was actually his. “Mind if I play this?”
David was not glad to hear that his father planned to visit. For the last few years they had disagreed on virtually everything, from the Vietnam War to the use of marijuana to the length of David’s hair.
“Go ahead,” Skip answered. He disliked the way his brother always took charge when he came over.
“It looks like you got burned.” David noticed his brother’s sunburn.
“Ann was really hot last night.” Skip’s jokes were earthy at best. After a few crude exchanges about sex, they talked of the Kleins, the family from Asheville, North Carolina, who visited their Savannah relatives every summer. David and Andreas Klein had grown up together, visiting Andy’s grandmother and uncles who lived two houses down from Battey House, spending childhood mornings together at the family bakery or swimming off the Turner’s Creek dock of the vacation house on Wilmington Island. On the death of Andy’s grandmother, that property had been fought over and sold by three uncles. Now the Kleins simply rented a beach house every summer for a week or two.
“Did you know that Andy has brought a girlfriend to Tybee?” Skip asked.
“Yes, he told me he had invited her.”
“Her name is Eva. She is really cute. How did Andy get up the nerve to ask her?”
David thought for a moment about the letter Andy had sent a few weeks ago. “ I think they met in a history class in the college in Asheville. They are second cousins, but had never known each other before. Her grandfather is one of Andy’s grandmother’s four brothers, or something like that.”
“She has a strange last name.” Skip tried to recall.
“It’s German-- Ubelee.” David remembered.
As Skip recounted his visit with the Kleins and their day on the beach, the door downstairs opened and closed with a bang. David recognized the sound of his father’s footsteps marching up the creaking stairs.
Will Jackson entered the dark living room. He wore a cheap gray suit that was too short for him and which was wrinkled from a day at the office. He had on a polka-dot bow tie, a clip-on that was coming loose, at an angle, from his light blue shirt.
“You’re early,” David said. “It’s not even four-thirty.” Will regularly left well before five. He liked to beat the traffic on the long ride back to Windsor Forest. He ignored his son’s critical comment.
“So what are you two planning?” Will asked. The question was odd for its tone, implying that they were up to no good.
“We’re going out to the beach to see the Kleins. They are here all week.” Skip answered. “Why?”
“You wouldn’t be planning to smoke some mary-jee-wanna, would you?”
David knew at once what had happened. His father had gone through the glove compartment of the Thunderbird. David had placed an ounce of grass there that he and Eddie had bought. He had forgotten all about it.
“That grass is Eddie’s, not mine,” David yelled. He was surprised at his own anger. “You haven’t got any business rifling through my stuff.”
“You could go to prison for possessing that stuff.” Will’s voice also grew loud. “You must be crazy, riding all over town with drugs in the car. I could be arrested myself, since I own the car.”
Will and David stared at each other, neither accepting the other’s actions. Will continued his lecture, “Do you not know how addictive this crap is? I don’t want to see my son hooked on heroin and other narcotics.”
David sneered, “it isn’t addictive at all. Your cigarettes and booze are addictive.”
Neither of the two listened. David praised marijuana and Will insisted it was the road to ruin. “I have no intention of putting up with this,” Will said, at last. “I’m flushing it down the commode.” Will took the grass from his jacket pocket and made as if to walk towards the back of the house.
“No you aren’t,” David yelled. “That grass is Eddie’s and other people have paid him for their share of it.” David blocked his father’s way. He looked straight at him, noticing how red and twisted Will’s face had become.
When Will tried to pass him, David lunged for the bag, trying to seize hold of it. The two men collided, wrestling for control. Unable to use the hand which held the grass, Will was thrown off balance and tripped over Skip’s massive wood table made from the hatch of a ship. David watched stunned by the sight of his father sprawled across the table and floor.
But David failed to take advantage of the situation. Will tossed the bag to the sofa and tackled his son in one motion. Before he could think, David was pinned to the floor with his father holding him down. Neither had struck blows with his fists.
Skip, visibly upset, tried to separate them. “That’s enough, you two. Dad, let David up. There’s no need for you two to fight. Dad, if the grass belongs to Eddie, we’ve got to give it to him.”
“You, shut up.” Will commanded. “Your brother and I will iron this out without your help.”
“Fine then, aye-earn it out.” Skip mocked his father’s Geechee accent. “Just wipe up the blood when you’re done.” Skip walked out of the room, slamming the double, glass-paned doors to the den.
“Are you finished wrestling, now?” David asked; he was out of breath. “You’re hurting my arm and you smell horrible.”
“Maybe if I knocked some sense into that head of yours, you’d be more of a man.” Will couldn’t resist the dig at his son’s queerness. Then he regretted the base urge to make fun of David. A deeper feeling arose in him. “You should be grateful you have a father who cares about you.”
“Oh yes,” David spit out sarcastically, “and this is the way you show it.”
As David lay pinned to the hard wood floor for what seemed an interminable time, Will entered another time of his own. He saw himself at thirteen, standing in front of the brick bastion of Chatham Academy. His ten-year-old sister Ruth was taunting him, “We don’t have the same daddy. Your daddy is dead.”
Young Willie could not believe his sister was saying this. “It’s not true,” he protested. “Who told you?”
“I swore I wouldn’t tell,” she pouted. Ruth stood her ground, small as she was, the dark curls of her long hair rolled up like fists along the side of her round head. “You were born in 1921 and Daddy married Momma in 1923, the year before I was born.” Ruth had the facts. Willie and Ruth walked home together after school each day. His parents insisted that Willie watch over her.
“Anyway, ask Momma if you don’t believe me.” Ruth was full of confidence even if she had little awareness of what a different daddy entailed. Their cousin April had told Ruth all of this yesterday after over-hearing her mother, Herman’s sister, whisper the dreadful story to her father. “You won’t be able to have the Bar-Mitzvah, now, will you?”
“Shut up, Ruth. You know you’re just jealous, and all these lies aren’t going to change anything.” But Will knew that everything was changed forever.

Will looked at David’s face, filled with disgust. He saw again the look on his mother’s face in 1934 when he asked her for the truth. “Am I a bastard?” he had asked, shocking her with the word.
“Who said this to you?” Sybil asked.
“Never mind who.” Will stood tough. “Tell me if it is so.”
“I want you to ask your father this question,” Sybil responded. “Let him tell you what is true and what is not.”
But Will knew that instant what was true. When Herman returned from work, prepared by a phone call from Sybil, his son, who had cried all afternoon in his bedroom, stood resolutely and dry-eyed before him. “Who is my father?” Will asked simply.
“I am your father,” Herman answered. “In the eyes of the law, in the eyes of God, I am.”
Will stared at him, moved but unsatisfied. He knew what a father was.
“You were with Mama when I was born?” Will asked.
“You were begotten by another man,” Herman said, trying not to display anger. “But there was only your mother there when you were born. I married your mother, and I adopted you legally. I am the only father you will ever have.”
Will remained perplexed. His adoptive father must love him, he realized. But he was not of the same blood. How could he go through with this Bar Mitzvah. “Was he Jewish?” Will asked. “Was my real father Jewish?”
Sybil, who had stood by quietly, spoke up.
“No, he was Baptist. And so was I.”
Herman could not contain his anger any longer. “He was nothing. I am your father now and you will join the Jewish community next month.”
But Will did not and could not go through with it. The whole family knew of his shame. He could not stand there, a Christian bastard, before his uncles and aunts. He would join the Baptist church. He would be baptized just as other Southern teenagers were baptized, in the faith of their true father.
But after that ceremony, which neither Sybil nor Herman attended, Will almost never attended church, not until his marriage to Betty. He made peace with God in his own way.

“Will you get off me now? You’re cutting the circulation off to my arm.” The fight was over. Will relented and David crawled out from under his father’s hold. Not letting another opportunity pass, David grabbed the grass from the sofa and walked out of the living room before Will could stop him.
As he fled Battey House, David slammed the solid wood door. The plate glass in the large window over the door rattled. One day it will crash down on someone’s head, David imagined. He jumped into the Thunderbird, replaced the grass in the glove compartment, and drove off. He intentionally drove the wrong way down the one-way street that ran beside Charles Ellis school. He turned right at Washington Avenue and headed for Tybee.

In 1970, there were few housing or shopping developments on Wilmington Island. Palm-lined Victory Drive continued past Thunderbolt’s shrimp boats and marina to become a palm and oleander bordered two-lane road all the way to the beach. Once across the Wilmington bridge, the first of five to the beach, the main houses were waterfront mansions concealed down long, mossy driveways. The home the Kleins once owned could only be seen from Turner’s Creek as it flowed into the Wilmington and past the Oglethorpe Hotel, with stucco walls and a red-tiled roof seven stories high, tall for the Twenties when it was built.
David drove across the island, passing the landmark airfield with piper cubs for sport or a tour of the islands along the Georgia coast. He passed the entrance to the Savannah Yacht Club. David fondly recalled Eddie standing naked in the showers of the club pool. Eddie and family were members, and it was when he had gone as a guest for the first time, years ago, when he was 17 and Eddie 15, that he had seen Eddie naked for the first time. David had known then the power of that attraction; it was a palpable need, not mere hunger for pleasure as his sexual appetite for Eddie’s sister Beth. Beth was play, elaborate masturbation, an ornament for David’s adolescent ego. But Eddie was, as David remembered the line from Tennessee Williams, “fox teeth in the heart.”
As David crossed Bull River, the fox teeth eased their bite. The green marshes were filled with the water of high tide. Egrets stood like white, solitary specters in the tall savannahs. The oleanders, alternating with palmettos, were yet in bloom, half of them white, half red. Tension from the fight with Will relaxed from David’s body.
The Kleins always rented the same house on 11th Street, two doors down from the sand dunes, a large second-story deck offering a place to grill hamburgers and to congregate. With three generations of uncles, cousins, and ever-increasing numbers of children, the Kleins needed the deck and the long screened porch, upstairs and down. As David arrived, most were on the beach, but Andreas and his new companion were stretched out in lounge chairs on the deck.
“David! Come up and let me introduce you to Eva.” Andreas Klein was always pure hospitality. He raised his 250-pound bulk out of the chair and stood on the deck as David came up the side staircase to the screened porch.
“I’ve just had a big fight with my Dad,” David confessed.
“Get yourself a beer out of the fridge. Or there’s a whole cooler of Beck’s if you want one of those.
“Introduce me first,” David said, seeing Eva, still sitting, smiling at him.
“Eva, this is David Jackson. David, Eva Ubelee.”
“Andy has told me all about you,” Eva drawled. David wondered exactly what that “all” included.

As the hot afternoon transformed into a warm evening, with sea breezes easing the heat, David relaxed and allowed two or three beers to put him in a friendly mood. Eva charmed him. David watched as she drew her shapely legs up along the lounge chair, rubbing more coconut-scented suntan lotion onto her legs and arms. She wore a one-piece, form-clinging orange bathing suit that showed off her full, country girl breasts and hips. Her waist though had the slenderness of a teenager. Noticing David’s eye, Eva played with the curls of her long, black hair.
“You grew up in Hickory; what was that like?” he asked her.
“Rural. I was ready to leave when I was 12. Going to college in Asheville was what I dreamed of in high school.”
“And that’s where you met Andy.”
“We were in the same American History class. He helped me study for the exam and I actually made a B in the course.”
“So who spoke first, you or Andy?”
“I did. I asked him -- you’re not going to believe this -- who won the Bull Run battle. I’m sure he thought I was really stupid.”
“I think Andy was alive during the Civil War,” suggested David. “there is absolutely nothing he doesn’t know about it. Don’t get him started on how the South should have won the war in 1861.”
David smiled as he thought of the argument he had had a few years ago with Andreas over whether Jefferson Davis had caused the South to lose the war, whether his decision not to let Lee attack Washington was a mistake.”
But the Civil War no longer interested David. “What do you think of Savannah?” he asked Eva.
“Well, I haven’t seen much of it yet. I love the beach, though. The ocean is so liberating. I was 10 before I ever saw it.”
Having grown up by the sea, David pitied anyone whose childhood did not include it. “We must go out tonight and show you the city,” David offered.
“You’d better arrange it with Andreas.”

Andreas had gone downstairs to help with the preparations for dinner. The older Kleins tended to gather downstairs and the younger ones and friends upstairs. Andreas' father, swishing a strong drink on the rocks, mocked his son. "Are you keeping Eva entertained?" he asked, "I hope you aren't just sitting around doing nothing."
Andy tried to ignore him. He helped his mother arrange things on the kitchen table. There was always far too much food. Each of three uncles had brought groceries, each trying to outdo the other. The Kleins had brought enough food from Asheville for a week. David was invited to partake of a ham, a deli turkey, several salads, potato, pasta, etc., endless varieties of chips, and a huge jar of party mix homemade by Andy’s mother.
After dinner, and after a beer or two, or in David’s case, a bourbon and ginger ale, Andreas, David, Eva, two brothers of Andreas, and a cousin walked along the beach. The full summer moon was emerging from scattered cumulus clouds over the ocean. The beach itself was dark and the six figures were silhouetted against the moonlit sea.
A stiff breeze almost brought a chill.
“Shall we take Eva to Pinkie’s tonight?” David proposed to Andreas.
Andy recalled his father's mocking implication that he couldn't keep Eva entertained.
“Sure. If she wants to drive into the city.”
“I’d love to see it,” Eva replied. “What is Pinkie’s?”
“A local pub where journalists, news people, and occasional politicians go,” David explained. “Only most of the people there are just locals who are a bit out of the ordinary.”
One of Andy’s brothers was old enough to drink, but he declined the invitation to go to town. David, Andy, and Eva decided to meet at Pinkie’s at 10:00, after David stopped by Battey House to pick up Skip.
“I think Eddie will meet us there, also,” David hoped.

After the walk on the beach, David drove back to Battey House. This time, the door was open.
“So what did he do when I left?” David asked about his father.
“He looked depressed,” Skip said. “He acted like you were already a heroin addict.”
“And now he is back safe and sound in suburbia with his perfect wife and her perfect children.” Will’s second wife, Barbara, had a son, aged 12, and a daughter, aged 10.
“You should try to get along with him.”
“He’s the one that searched through the glove compartment,” David snapped.
“He said he was looking for some papers he misplaced,” Skip tried to defend.
“Yeah. Right.” David seldom believed any of his father’s stated reasons for doing things. “And he wasn’t seeing Barbara before he divorced Mom, either.”
Skip was not sure with whom he sided, his father or his brother. He too often disliked them both.
“Are Andy and Eva going to Pinkie’s?” Skip asked, changing the subject.
“They will meet us there at 10:00, which reminds me, I need to call Eddie.” David phoned his friend, who lived 17 blocks away on 66th Street. After the call, he returned to Skip.
“It’s all set. We’ll all meet at Pinkie’s.”

Pinkie’s, with its Pabst Blue Ribbon sign lit, was hopping. Several people were standing on the corner of Drayton and Harrison, across the street from the side of the brand new Hilton Hotel, as David and Skip entered the bar and passed through the swinging inside doors. Lillie was bartending.
“Skip. David.” She recognized the brothers. “David, bourbon and ginger?”
“You bet.”
“And a Bud for Skip.”
“Sounds good,” Skip answered.
David spotted Andreas and Eva sitting in one of the dark, wooden booths.
“Did you save us a place?” David asked Eva.
“Of course.”

Pinkie’s was loud and smoky, though a small exhaust fan over one of the shut windows attempted to clear some of the smoke. The air conditioning appeared to be blowing frosty air. “Pennsylvania 6-5000” was playing on the eclectic jukebox. Above their booth, a framed, yellowed copy of the front pages of the Chicago Tribune announced that Dewey had defeated Truman.
The people sitting on stools around the bar were as varied as the music: a few students from Armstrong, a business man or two in suits, half a dozen women ranging in age from 20 to 60, and a few rapidly aging alcoholics, whom Lillie knew by name. A couple from the suburbs played pinball on one of the two machines in the back corner of the bar.
As David and Skip joined Eva and Andreas in one of the wooden booths that lined Pinkies’ walls, Eddie entered. He ordered a Becks, pulled up the last free chair and greeted everyone, introducing himself to Eva before Andy could do it.
"Have they told you the history of this place?" Eddie asked Eva.
"We just got here." She answered.
"Well, the bar is rich in stories." Eddie regarded Eva with a sly smile, as if kidding. "Georgia's very own governor stood right there on the bar."
"Which governor was that?" Eva asked, skeptical.
"The present one-- Jimmy Carter."
"The story goes," David chimed in, "that Carter made a speech during his campaign, here. Then he left his mother, Lillian, sitting at the bar while he went to wheel and deal with the local politicians. By the time he returned, she'd had so much to drink, she fell off the stool."
"Come on. That's not true." Andy protested. He thought Eddie and David were making fun of Eva.
"They all know the story here," Eddie laughed. "We heard it from 'Ski who's here during the week; but I'll bet Lilly will confirm it for you."
As they debated the truth of the story, Don Landry entered the bar. Not seeing David or Eddie, he ordered a scotch and water from Lilly and sat on one of the bar stools. Lilly greeted him, gave him the drink, and nodded toward the booth, "Aren't those your friends?"
"Yes. Thanks." Landry took in the crowded booth. David was animated, engaged in conversation and laughing. "Doesn't look like there's room for me, there." Landry said to Lilly. Not that he wanted to join the party anyway. He had come out for an uninvolved evening, wanting to sit back and observe. An intense conversation with David and his friends had no appeal.
However, Eddie was quick to spy Dr. Landry sitting by himself. "Look who's sitting at the bar," he gestured toward David. How long has he been there?"
David climbed out of the booth, crawling over Eva. He took Landry's arm and invited him to join the group.
"Thanks, but I'm fine sitting here." Landry tried to sound friendly, not unsociable.
David was annoyed. "Well, at least come over and meet Andreas. He's the friend from Asheville I've told you about. We've known each other all our lives. You'll like him."
Landry reluctantly gave in and walked to the booth. He shook hands with Andy and Eva. "David sings your praises," he said to them. He said hello to Eddie who was smiling like a Cheshire cat. Then he excused himself from the table. "What an odd assortment of people David keeps around him." Landry thought. He returned to his stool and was pleased to find an Armstrong student he knew sitting to his right. He smiled and spoke to him.
David failed to understand why Landry refused to join his party. "He's such a snob, sometimes," he thought. Then he just sighed and chalked it up to Don's being a bit of a recluse. He tried to give his attention to the conversation.
"What history courses will you teach, then?" Eddie was asking Andy.
"Both world and American." Andreas explained. "There will be several sections of history from grades ten to twelve at Black Mountain High. Unfortunately, the classes will be big ones."
"You'll have to get over your shyness.” Eva said.
"It's hard to imagine you lecturing history to a class full of teenagers." David said. He regretted the comment when he saw the look of fear in Andy's eyes. "But I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."
"I don't know," Andreas shrugged, "Trying to manage all those kids worries me."
For almost an hour they drank and watched the shift of the crowd that came and went at Pinkie's. Landry had left after his single drink. "So why do all these folks come here?" Eva asked. "It is such a dump."
"Maybe we should go to the River," Eddie suggested. "It's the up and coming place now. Our mayor has started a major restoration to create a riverfront walk and park."
"Isn't there an Irish pub there?' Andy asked.
“Molly’s,” said David. “We could park on Bay and take Eva on a tour of Factor’s Walk.”
“And show her the Griffin,” Andy added. The river front and the bluff down which cobblestone streets descended struck Eva as dark and frightening. The Griffin fountain scared her. Andy teased her that pirates and cut-throats hid in the arched storage areas, unlit by the dim gaslights and reeking of urine.
“These stones were brought over in Oglethorpe’s ships. The English used them as ballast.” Andy was saying.
“Women must not have worn high heals then,” Eva said. She continued to stumble along the unlit road.
River Street offered no better, its brick surface heaped with piles of construction dirt closed in with cranes and trucks. Nonetheless, plenty of people made their way over the debris to the Boar’s Head restaurant, Molly’s, and other clubs. Eva and her four men passed a troop of shouting soldiers from nearby Fort Stewart. They were eager to fight. “Gettin’ ready for N’am.” Eddie remarked.

Molly’s idea of Irish was a huge flag over the bar and some Irish music on the juke box. A few beers—Harp, Guinness—David suggested a more authentic locale. “You’ve seen River Street,” he said to Eva. “Now you should see a truly unique nightspot—the Basement.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Andy said.
“No way are we going to that dive.” Eddie added.
Eva was intriqued. “So, what is the Basement?”
“A gay bar, full of weirdos.” Skip answered.
“Exactly; that is what makes it fun.” David coaxed.
“I’ve never been to one,” said Eva; but the last Tom Collins had been just enough to rid her of inhibition. “Hell, let’s go. You don’t mind do you Andy?” When he said it was OK with him she turned back to David, “Will there be any other women there?”
“Probably a lesbian or two.”
Eva hesitated, “Let’s go y’all before I chicken out.”
They arrived at the old Armory building on Madison Square at 1:00. They stumbled down the steps from the sidewalk to the dim, subterranean chamber. David led the way, feeling familiar decadence as he descended into the forbidden bar. The interior glowed with red and yellow bulbs transforming the dull red Savannah brick walls into a garish hell hole.
One huge, twirling mirrored ball sent beams of smoky white light spinning over the empty dance floor. At the bar, on one end, two men in tight, faded bell-bottom jeans huddled and whispered. A single middle-aged woman sat alone at the other end. Several men of all ages and builds were scattered throughout the place, eying this new group suspiciously.
“Looks like we are tonight’s entertainment,” David remarked. “I guess we’ll have to perform.”
Taking David’s cue, Eddie invited Eva to dance. David, smiling, offered his hand to Andy. Andy laughed, but followed his friend to the dance floor. Skip, uneasy and self-conscious, ordered a beer.
They danced in various combinations and continued drinking. When Patsy Cline’s Crazy began to play, a couple wearing cowboy boots danced as well. Yet, the five remained the star act for the night.
Glancing at the men watching from their shadowy corners of the bar, Eva thought they were sinister and resentful. “These guys don’t like for people to have fun,” Eddie whispered to her, reading her thoughts. David heard the comment and realized he was the only one of the five who really fit in here. “I wouldn’t look happy if I were here alone, either,” he thought.

By two A.M. they agreed to call it a night. David drove Andreas and Eva to their car, parked nearby at Pinkies. Eddie rode with them, but Skip walked to his car alone. “Join us at Williams, Sunday,” Andy said to David. The Kleins made the seafood restaurant on Wilmington Island part of their annual ritual. David and Eddie watched them drive off. “Stop by for a nightcap?” David suggested as Eddie fetched his keys to the Karmann Ghia.
“OK,” Eddie replied, “Why not.” He was resigned and apprehensive, knowing well where they were headed.
David lived in the carriage house of the oldest standing house in Savannah, known by the name Camphor-Christian. Originally a small, white wood frame cottage, built in the 1760s, it was raised during the floods of the 1840s above a brick first floor. Will bought the house from a friend and client who was forced to retire to a nursing home. “I want you to have it because I know you; and I know you will take care of it,” she had told him tearfully. Will had gotten a remarkable real estate deal.
The carriage house was built in the 1950s to match the cottage. A narrow passage way led from Oglethorpe Street along the side of the old house to a courtyard and the entrance to the carriage house. Eddie arrived and parked on Oglethorpe behind David’s thunderbird. He followed through the narrow green door and passage. The main living area was upstairs, two large rooms and a kitchen and bath. “I have bourbon and I have beer,” David offered.
“Just a beer. I really can’t stay long.” Eddie answered.
David sat in his wooden rocking chair, watching Eddie sit in the blue, upholstered, 50s armchair by the window. “How’d you like Eva?”
“I think Andy is a lucky man. She’s a real find for him.”
"he’s exactly what she’s looking for,” David said, “loyalty, devotion, stability. You have to admit, he is an ideal boyfriend.”
“Sure, Andy’s a great guy.” Eddie refused to admit envy or criticize Andy’s weight.
David took a deep breath, rose, and walked over to Eddie’s chair. “You are so unhappy.” David sat on the arm of the chair.
Eddie put his arm around David. “I just don’t know what to want, that’s all. All the conflict with Susan has been such a downer.”
They sat holding onto one another awkwardly. Both were drunk and sad. “You want something more, don’t you?” Eddie said finally.
“We love each other. We should experience everything together. Sex would complete the intimacy, be the ultimate sharing of who we are.” Eddie knew there was some flaw in David’s logic of love. He knew that love needed mutual desire. He was too tired to argue though, glad enough to give in. Weeks of frustration over Susan made David’s adoration soothing. I’ll just this once let David have what he wants—he’s wanted it long enough, God knows. It would be cruel, Eddie decided, not to satisfy him.
David was already unbuttoning Eddie’s button down shirt, caressing the hair of his chest. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” Eddie coaxed.
Trance- like Eddie allowed David to take his hand and lead him to the full-size bed. Eddie removed the hand-made wool blanket from Mexico, its pattern like steps of fate. David undressed and Eddie removed the remainder of his own clothes. “I’ll lie back and you can do as you like,” he whispered. David did as he liked. Eddie’s body liked it as well.
When the sexual intimacy was over, Eddie was eager to leave. Remaining naked, David walked him down the stairs to the courtyard. They stood in the unlit courtyard, the bricks cold against David’s feet, and kissed. Eddie then disappeared down the narrow passageway to the street.
David reveled in Eddie’s odor and memory of his body. He glowed with satisfaction as he retraced the path to his bed and dreams.
Eddie felt used. “I have spilt my seed on another man.” He said aloud with Biblical resignation. “I’ve done the ultimate sin.”

On Tybee Island a mist deepened the silence of three A.M. Andreas parked his Mustang, glad to have the long drive from town over. “Would you like to take a short walk on the beach before we go in?” He asked Eva. “Or are you too tired?” No, no, I’m wide awake. I’d love to walk. Isn’t the fog pretty? Eva knew, as did Andreas, that there would be no privacy in the beach house. They slept on a sofa bed in a room shared with Andy’s sister. A light in the upstairs bedroom showed that someone might still be awake, perhaps watching late night t.v. The beach, however, was almost too dark for them to see where they were going. Distant street lights from the boardwalk half a mile away hardly penetrated the fog. The moon, so bright earlier, was lost in the mist. The tide, waves lapping somewhere, was neither high nor low. Still, the rhythm guided them through the cool darkness.
Andreas held tightly Eva’s hand, leading her along the strand away from the light. He sensed where the sand dunes were. “Let’s sit here, OK?” he suggested when they reached them. As they sat, Andreas wrapped his arm around Eva. "Did you like my Savannah friends?" he asked.
"Well, they certainly aren't like our friends in Asheville." Eva replied.
"David's wild, isn't he?"
"He's cute and he's funny." Eva said, wondering if maybe she liked him too much.
"And Eddie sure liked you, didn't he?"
"I think Eddie loves all women."
The two snuggled in the cool breeze from the sea. Andreas kissed Eva gently. She kissed him back harder. They struggled out of their clothes, despite the chill, using the scattered clothes to lie on. The damp sand was nonetheless everywhere. Andreas attempted to crawl on top of Eva, but she guided his massive body back. She would get on top.
Though Eva had never "gone all the way," she wanted to do so now. The excitement of the night, the sea, the alcohol, the cool mist, all made her hot for this penetration.
Andreas was also a virgin, fearful, but eager and ready. Striding him, Eva reached down and guided him into her. How thick it is, she thought as she squeezed him. She felt the stab of pain as he entered her; it made her think she would faint, pass out with the pain. Then the dizzying pain thrilled her. She felt Andreas go all the way inside her. Andreas felt her wincing and emitting a stifled cry. He thrust upward, trying to hold her hips to him. Then, over Eva's shoulder, he saw the moon seeming to glide behind the scattering fog. His cock burned as he came.

An hour later they lay together on the sofa-bed. In Andreas' wide arms, Eva felt protected, secure. She again pictured David as she recalled the night in town. She smiled to think that she was rid of her virginity. It was the most content moment of her life.

On arriving home, Skip Jackson saw that the door to Battey House was wide open. The house had been broken into before, but the lack of anything but bulky, out of date stereo equipment, built into the cabinets Will had constructed years ago, and an unmanageable console t.v. had left the robbers with nothing of ready value to steal. Skip had found an ice pick jabbed into the middle of his sofa. Revenge.
Wondering whether to go to a telephone booth and call the police, Skip got out of his car and stared at the door, expecting some thief or gang to appear. He imagined an icepick jammed into himself. Going a few steps closer to the house, Skip heard music. Robbers wouldn't be sampling the hi- fi.
As Skip climbed the brick steps, he realized that others were upstairs partying. As he entered the upstairs door to the living room, he saw blond, thin Odie Christian standing in front of the turntable. He wore headphones and was dancing and snapping his fingers. When he looked up and saw Skip, He jumped. Then, he waved and lifted the headset.
"What's hap'nin', Bro'?" Odie yelled. He turned back to the blaring rock-- Led Zeppelin.
Lights were also on in the adjoining den. Skip opened the double glass-paned doors to find Bobby Garrett, another teenage neighbor, more mischievous than Odie, stretched out on the well worn, pink sofa. His jeans were pulled down around his feet. He was reading Penthouse, Hustler, and another especially trashy spread that was tossed on the floor beneath him. He was stroking his deep red, erect cock, which was so long it looked like a bloody snake to Skip. Bobby grinned, seeing Skip, and let out a loud gaffaw. "hey, Man." He continued to masturbate.
"All right, you two have to go." Skip ordered, " I need to go to bed and I don't need all this noise and disgust." He returned to the living room and switched off the stereo. Odie protested, pleading,"What's wrong? You don't want to throw us out on the street. It's Saturday night; where else can we go? This is our only place."
"Just go home." Skip repeated. But he hadn't the heart to force them out. Odie and Bobby were his family now that his parents and brother had moved out. Skip ignored Odie's turning the music on again. He ambled down the back hallway, bypassing Bobby, to his sanctuary. He had installed a bolt lock on his bedroom door at the end of the hall. He opened it with his key and entered the dark womb, bolting the door shut behind him. He was asleep on his soft, unmade bed in seconds.

End, Chapter 2. copyright, Jack Miller