The Game of Love and Death(43)

“It’s not that I wouldn’t be able to understand. It’s that I couldn’t possibly be interested.” Helen unclasped her pocketbook and removed a cigarette from a silver case.

“Not in here,” Ethan said. “You know what Mother would say.”

“And Ethan would never do something that would cost him the approval of one of his parents.” Helen removed the unlit cigarette from her lips. “Ethan is a perfect puppet. Sit up, Ethan. Walk this way, Ethan. Bow to us, Ethan.”


“Not in the car either,” Ethan said, pointedly ignoring her remark. “You’ll burn holes in the seats.”

Helen rolled her eyes and put the cigarette back in its case. Its tip had been stained red by her lips, and Henry found the sight of it both repellent and fascinating.

The night air was cool and damp, and made Henry feel somewhat more himself. In the cloud-filtered moonlight Helen looked like a figure in a painting. He could not tell if the sensation it gave him was pleasant or troubling.

“Anything else I’m not allowed to do tonight?” she said.

“An entire list,” Ethan said. “Use your imagination.”

“Oh, I am.” She waited for Henry and reached for his arm, but Ethan swooped between them and guided her to the backseat.

“Henry, you don’t mind riding up front, do you?”

“Not at all.” Henry appreciated that Ethan was trying to spare him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be spared anymore. In the backseat, Helen played with her lighter, making flames appear and disappear. Henry expected her to light a cigarette, but she didn’t.

She wouldn’t leave Ethan alone. “Who are we picking up? Is it anyone I know?”

“No.” Ethan turned on the radio, which was broadcasting news about Neville Chamberlain’s election as prime minister of the United Kingdom.

Helen objected. “Ugh, how impossibly dull.”

“It’s international news, Helen. It’s good to care about events that shape the future of humanity.”

“Please,” Helen said. “I’ve had enough for a thousand lifetimes.”

Henry looked out the window, eager to avoid the cross fire. Ethan switched off the radio. Hooverville was just ahead, lit with smudgy campfire light that gave the air a thick, sad smell. Ethan pulled over. From the darkness, James Booth appeared in a clean gray suit, looking as if he might be one of their classmates. Perhaps his fortunes had improved; Henry could certainly imagine where he’d made some money. Ethan got out, and the pair shook hands. He opened the back door, and James slid in beside Helen, grinning more broadly than seemed possible.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Helen looked at James as though he were a smelly dog.

“Don’t be a snob, Helen,” Ethan said. “This is the mayor of Hooverville. Had he been born into money, he might even be the mayor of the city itself in a few years. He’s a terrific political talent. Full of smart ideas.”

Henry watched in the rearview mirror as she lit a cigarette and exhaled in James’s face.

“Helen.” James extended his hand. “Ethan’s said so much about you.”

“Funny. He hasn’t said a thing about you.” Helen barely squeezed his fingertips. Her lit cigarette threatened to drop ash on the back of his hand.

“History has a famous Helen,” James said. “Her face launched a thousand ships. You have a face that might launch a solid dozen, which I mean as a compliment on the grandest scale. The warships today are much bigger.” He plucked the cigarette from her fingers and stubbed it in the ashtray. “There, now. We wouldn’t want to set anything on fire.”

Helen laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

Henry glanced at Ethan, wondering if Helen and James could possibly have met before. Their antipathy had such familiarity.

“Helen,” Ethan said. “Mind your manners. James might not come from money, but he’s got ideas and a gift for persuasion. You might even call that the wealth of the modern era.”

“Oh, there’s a lot I’d call the likes of him,” she said.

“Go on.” James leaned against the seat, cradling his head in his hands, as if he enjoyed being abused. “I’m all ears.”

She raked her eyes over him. “The Helen in your story was a home wrecker, for starters.”

“As I understand my mythology, she was the daughter of a god who was abducted from her husband.”

“She didn’t mind in the least.”

“You have firsthand knowledge?”

“And what if I did?”

“Then I’d say you were remarkably well preserved.”

“How lovely of you to notice,” she said, looking more amused than anything. “As the story goes, she did not survive long after her husband reclaimed her. Death is cruel to lovers, is it not?”

“Love is a bad thing if it starts a ten-year war,” Ethan said. “Home-wrecking aside.”

Henry wished he knew more about the story. Mythology and philosophy were always more Ethan’s thing. He had to hand it to his friend, though. He wasn’t kidding about James’s intelligence.

“There is no such thing as terrible love,” James argued, leaning close to Helen.

“It’s all terrible,” Helen said, leaning right back.