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"
Well
.
.
.
Where
’
s
the
phone
?
"
"
It
went
,
"
said
Eloise
,
carrying
the
empty
glasses
and
walking
toward
the
dining
room
,
"
—
this
-
a
-
way
.
"
She
stopped
short
on
the
floor
board
between
the
living
room
and
the
dining
room
and
executed
a
grind
and
a
bump
.
Mary
Jane
giggled
.
"
I
mean
you
didn
’
t
really
know
Walt
,
"
said
Eloise
at
a
quarter
of
five
,
lying
on
her
back
on
the
floor
,
a
drink
balanced
upright
on
her
small
-
breasted
chest
.
"
He
was
the
only
boy
I
ever
knew
that
could
make
me
laugh
.
I
mean
really
laugh
.
"
She
looked
over
at
Mary
Jane
.
"
You
remember
that
night
—
our
last
year
—
when
that
crazy
Louise
Hermanson
busted
in
the
room
wearing
that
black
brassiere
she
bought
in
Chicago
?
"
Mary
Jane
giggled
.
She
was
lying
on
her
stomach
on
the
couch
,
her
chin
on
the
armrest
,
facing
Eloise
.
Her
drink
was
on
the
floor
,
within
reach
.
"
Well
,
he
could
make
me
laugh
that
way
,
"
Eloise
said
.
"
He
could
do
it
when
he
talked
to
me
.
He
could
do
it
over
the
phone
.
He
could
even
do
it
in
a
letter
.
And
the
best
thing
about
it
was
that
he
didn
’
t
even
try
to
be
funny
—
he
just
was
funny
.
"
She
turned
her
head
slightly
toward
Mary
Jane
.
"
Hey
,
how
’
bout
throwing
me
a
cigarette
?
"
"
I
can
’
t
reach
’
em
,
"
Mary
Jane
said
.
"
Nuts
to
you
.
"
Eloise
looked
up
at
the
ceiling
again
.
"
Once
,
"
she
said
,
"
I
fell
down
.
I
used
to
wait
for
him
at
the
bus
stop
,
right
outside
the
PX
,
and
he
showed
up
late
once
,
just
as
the
bus
was
pulling
out
.
We
started
to
run
for
it
,
and
I
fell
and
twisted
my
ankle
.
He
said
,
'
Poor
Uncle
Wiggily
.
’
He
meant
my
ankle
.
Poor
old
Uncle
Wiggily
,
he
called
it
.
.
.
.
God
,
he
was
nice
.
"
"
Doesn
’
t
Lew
have
a
sense
of
humor
?
"
Mary
Jane
said
.
"
What
?
"
