What can you do when someone just invites himself up? Say no?

We were trapped.

I started to say, “Sure, come on up,” but I hadn’t got past the “sh” sound in “sure” before Steve was already working on the gate latch, which after only about half a minute he managed to lift up.

Next thing you knew he was on the porch, giving Elektra a kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t tell me your name!” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

“Alicia!” he cried.

“No.”

“No?”

“Nope,” she said.

“Okay, uh — Jocasta?”

“No.”

“Am I warm?”

“A little.”

“Is it Medea?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmm, let me think. Lysistrata?”

I couldn’t take it any more.

“It’s Elektra, Steve,” I said.

“Elektra! I knew it! Thank you, Arthur!”

“Arnold,” I said.

“Arnold! So what are you two up to?”

“Uh, we were just going, actually,” I said.

“Is this where you live, Arnold?”

“Well, no, not really.”

My mother opened the screen door, holding a tray with cups of coffee, a little cream pitcher, a sugar bowl.

“Hello, madam,” said Steve.

“Hello,” said my mother.

“My name’s Steve. Here, let me take that tray.” He took the tray from her. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Arnold’s mother. Mrs. Schnabel.”

“Are you? Arnold’s only my best buddy, you know.”

“Really?”

She looked at me in puzzlement.

“Arnold,” said Steve, “I thought you said you didn’t live here, you big fibber.”

“Well, I — I’m just — staying here,” I mumbled.

“It’s my sisters’ house,” said my mother.

“Can I have a cup of that coffee, Steve,” said Elektra.

“Of course, darling.”

He went over and bent down with the tray; she took a cup and saucer, and with a gentle wave of her hand indicated she didn’t want sugar or cream.

“Arnold?” said Steve.

I took a cup, black also.

“Would you like a cup, Steve?” asked my mother.

“No, thank you, I’ve just had a gallon of coffee.”

“Can I get you something else?”

“Oh, no thank you, I’ve only popped up to say hi really. Don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“You’re very welcome, Steve,” said my mother. “Any friend of Arnold’s is welcome here.”

“So kind of you to say that.” He handed her back the tray. “Besides, Arnold said he and Elektra had plans.”

“You do?” said my mother to me.

“Uh,” I said.

“We were just going to take a walk,” said Elektra, to my rescue.

“Well, don’t forget your umbrellas,” said my mother. “It might rain some more.”

Kevin came and opened the screen door.

“Hello, little man,” said Steve. “And who might you be?”

“Kevin Armstrong,” said Kevin.

“My name’s Steve.”

“Hello.”

My Aunt Edith appeared behind Kevin. This was really getting insane, and this time it wasn’t all me.

“Hello,” said Steve.

“Hello,” said Aunt Edith.

“My name’s Steve. Arnold’s friend.”

“I’m Edith. Arnold’s aunt.”

“Hello, Aunt Edith, and aren’t you just as cute as a button?”

At this Aunt Edith retreated back indoors but Kevin just stood there in the doorway.

“So!” said Steve. “I should be going. Arnold, where is this VFW club I’ve heard so much about?”

“Just go right down the street here till you get to the next corner, Congress Street, then go right and it’s another block or so on the right-hand side. You can’t miss it.”

“Care to come?” He looked hopefully at me, then at Elektra, then back to me again, with a sad half smile on one side of his face.

“Uh, no, Steve, thanks,” I said. “we, uh –”

“We just ate an enormous and delicious meal,” said Elektra. “We want to walk it off.”

My mother still stood there, holding her tray, and Kevin remained in the doorway.

“I should eat something,” said Steve, wistfully. “Do they have good food at this VFW?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Go for the meatball sandwich.”

“Steve, why don’t you let me fix you a plate?” said my mother.

See? Now I know where my insanity comes from.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t, Mrs. Schnabel.”

“You wait here, I’ll bring you out a tray. Would you like a glass of wine?”

“A glass of wine? Well, that would be nice.”

“Sit down and I’ll be right out.”

“I really shouldn’t.” He looked at me for guidance. I surrendered.

“Go ahead, Steve,” I said. “Pull up a chair.”

“I’ll only stay for a quick glass of wine. No food.”

“No. Bring him some food, Mom.”

“I’ll heat a dinner up.”

“Oh, please don’t, Mrs. Schnabel,” said Steve. “Just something cold is fine.”

“Would you like some roast beef?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

She went in, shooing Kevin in front of her.

“May I pull that over?” Steve said, pointing to another rocker on the other side of the doorway.

For some reason I couldn’t even answer him. And it didn’t really matter anyway.

He went over, picked the chair up, brought it over and set it down across from us, but closer to my chair than Elektra’s. The porch is not all that deep, and so his knees were only about a foot from mine. We were both wearing Bermuda shorts.

The misty rain had stopped, but the light that just a few minutes before had brightly colored the street had now fallen away. A silence fell, or was allowed to resume, but it was still rather windy out, so this was the silence of wet leaves hissing in the trees, of fallen leaves scudding along the street like flotsam in a river, and, from seemingly far away but only a few blocks away, the ocean endlessly crashing at the edge of the continent.

Then Steve started prattling again.

Twenty minutes later Steve had devoured a roast beef sandwich and downed a jelly glass of wine, all the while talking, although I’ve already forgotten about what , even though I am writing this the next afternoon.

Finally:

“Well, I really should be going,” he said at last.

Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to say what I know you’re supposed to say when someone says that, which is “No, stay”, and neither did Elektra.

“Are you sure you two wouldn’t like to have a drink with me? I’m buying.”

“Steve,” said Elektra.

“Yes, darling.”

“Lean closer.”

She gave him a come-hither wiggle with her index finger.

Steve leaned closer, holding his cigarette up and away.

“Arnold and I want to go to bed,” she said, quietly but distinctly.

Steve’s mouth made an “O”, then his head snapped back and the “O” became a thin line.

He stood up.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked. At first he was facing Elektra but then he looked at me.

“Forgive me, Arnold.”

“I forgive you, Steve.”

“Okay, give me directions for that VFW place again.”

“Steve,” I said, “do you really want to get drunk all over again?”

He said nothing for a couple of moments, blinking in the twilight.

“But what else is there to do? This is my vacation.”

“You could — take a walk?”

“Oh please.”

“You could see a movie.”

“Arnold, this is my vacation. You understand, Elektra, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“You two are lucky. You have something to do besides drink. But who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky.”

“At the VFW, Steve?” I had to ask.

“Stranger things have happened, old boy.”

“Be careful there, Steve.”

“You mean don’t get beat up?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Arnold, for me getting beat up is an occupational hazard, so don’t you worry.”

He asked me again for the directions, I gave them again, and he went away.

“So that’s your Jesus,” said Elektra.

I wondered if I should tell her of the visions I’d had that afternoon, seeing Steve in my room, across the street, on the porch. I didn’t want to go into it, but I felt honor-bound to say something.

“I had a few more of those — hallucinations, today,” I said.

“Are you having one now?”

“Not unless you’re one,” I said.

“I’m not a hallucination, Arnold. But I guess that’s what they all say, isn’t it?”

“Let’s go to your place,” I said.

“I have to say good night and thank you to your family first,” she said. “You stay here.”

Steve had left his plate and wine glass on a tray on the table. Elektra filled the tray up with our cups and saucers and our empty wineglasses, and took them inside.

I stood and waited, smoking a cigarette. I could hear the theme music of I’m Dickens, He’s Fenster.

A few minutes later Elektra came out. She got her purse off the table, put her arm in mine, and off we went.

We still had the whole evening ahead of us.