29. Truman Capote

Truman Capote was telling a long story to Merv Griffith. It went something like this: A young man is visiting a woman in a New York City apartment. It’s not their first date, but it’s early on in their time together, He’s still trying to impress her. They’re on their way to a movie. The woman excuses herself, says she needs to go into the other room to get ready. The man is left alone in the kitchen with the woman’s dog, which is small, a terrier, white. He’s playing with the dog, tossing a sponge rubber ball around the apartment, letting the dog retrieve it. The woman calls in, “Just a few more seconds.” The man throws the ball one last time. But he throws it too hard. It bounces off the linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor and out the window. The dog goes leaping after it, right out the window.

The woman reappears. “We better hurry,” she says. “We’re going to miss the beginning.”

They leave in a rush. She doesn’t have a chance to notice the dog isn’t there. The man doesn’t say anything then, nor does he say anything during the movie. He can barely watch the movie at all. At the end of the night, he kisses the woman at the door, and leaves quickly. He knows she’s going to notice the dog is missing when she gets inside. But she’s going to think the dog jumped out the window by itself. He knows she won’t suspect him for a minute. He also knows he’s never going to call her again, or take her calls. Which in fact is what happens: they never do get together again after that night.

Truman exaggerated every detail of the story, which was why it took him so long to tell it. He couldn’t just say “a sponge ball.” He had to talk about how there was one side of the ball already bitten off, how wet it was with the dog’s drool.

“He’s drunk,” my mother said, about midway through the story.

“Do you think so? Or is it only because he talks like that?” I asked.

“No. He’s drunk.”

My mother and I liked to watch Merv on nights when my father wasn’t around, which was most nights these days. Sometimes he stopped for a few drinks after work and didn’t come home until well after dinner; sometimes something one of us said set him off and he’d storm off in the car. Thursdays he was in a bowling league, and Fridays he played poker at the VFW.

It was fine with us. It was much more relaxed without him here. There was less shouting.

My mother and I liked talk shows in general. Our favorite was Lee Leonard, the host on the midday show from New York City. We both admired the way he was able to talk to anyone, how curious he seemed to be about every minor Broadway actor or first novelist who sat down in the chair across from him.
Merv wasn’t curious. He more or less just let people talk and laughed at their jokes. But he did get bigger stars than Lee Leonard did.

“So here’s my point,” Truman said, in that nasal, syrupy voice. “Would you tell the woman about her dog? I think if you’re truthful with yourself, you’ll have to think long and hard about that. And here’s my other point: was the killing of the dog the reason the man never got together again with the woman, whom he really liked and anticipated a future with, or was it his being unable to admit it to her?”

“Of course I’d tell her,” my mother said. “How can anyone think they wouldn’t tell?”

“I guess he considers it a moral test,” I answered.

“That’s no test! What kind of person wouldn’t tell someone they’d killed their dog? Can you imagine how that woman must have felt? And this person, he just let her go on thinking that nothing was happening, let her go to the movie without knowing.”

I tried to smile. There was too much emotion in my mother’s voice. It wasn’t right for this silly story. It wasn’t right for Merv in general.

“It’s not that big a deal,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“It is a big deal,” my mother insisted. “How about you? Would you tell?”

I truly didn’t know. I guessed it would have depended on the girl. But I knew what my mother wanted to hear. “Yes. I would.”

“That’s right. Of course you would. Anyone, anyone moral, as you call it, would. I know that. I don’t care what any Truman Capote says about it.”

I nodded again. When the show came back from commercial, Truman was gone. Maybe he had been drunk after all. Merv introduced his next guest, David Jannsen. We’d seen David Jannsen before on other shows, and knew he was what my mother liked to call a “snore bore.” I was grateful to have an excuse to go to bed.