The Stiff Upper Lip Read Online Free PDF Page B

Communist blatt had blamed it on the invasion of capitalist imperialism, made in U.S.A.
    As far as I was concerned, the verdict was doubtful, but my stomach was still riding a trampoline. It had started jumping the day before; it hadn’t stopped. Among other things, I was none too happy about the hideaway Valérie had found him. Admittedly, she hadn’t had time to go house-hunting, but if you were going to try hiding a long-armed spade in Paris, one who went six-seven in his socks and had his picture in all the media, all-white Neuilly was about the last place you’d choose.
    â€œO.K.,” I said to Roscoe, “now let’s go over what happened to you yesterday.”
    â€œI already tole Val, man.”
    The lady in question was standing by the window staring out over the rooftops toward the Bois de Boulogne and looking a little frayed around the edges.
    â€œRight, And now you’re going to tell me.”
    â€œO.K.,” he said with a sigh.
    â€œFrom the beginning.”
    â€œThe beginning, yeah. Well, where it begins, man, is that I overslep’. I was supposed to meet some of the brothers at the Puke yesterday mornin’, like we do. Odessa too. On’y I overslep’. Shit, man, there’s no law against that , is there?”
    The Puke stood for the P.U.C., or Paris University Club, which runs an indoor sports emporium up at the top of the Boulevard St. Michel. There’s a nice little gym in the basement, and though you’re supposed to be a member to use it, nobody I know ever got asked for his diploma.
    â€œWho else was there,” I said, “besides Odessa?”
    â€œHow do I know, man? I was in bed!”
    â€œBut who was supposed to be there?”
    â€œAnybody who was in town.”
    â€œWell? Who was in town?”
    â€œI don’ know. Johnson and Bully Reed mos’ likely, you saw them play the other night. Ath’ton. The boys from Bagnolet too, they’s got a home game comin’ up. Plus a couple o’ bloods from Barcelona, tha’s what Odessa said.”
    â€œBarcelona?”
    â€œBarcelona in Spain, man.”
    â€œIsn’t that a hell of a long way to come for a pick-up game?”
    â€œThey had an exhibition up in Belgium. Them an’ some Belgium club. Jus’ passin’ through Paris. Odessa knows ’em. Leas’ he did.”
    It still struck me as strange that pro athletes would not only play for free but go out of their way to do it. Unless, that is, they had other business in Paris. But, according to Roscoe, the class basketball in Europe went on not in the leagues but in the pick-up action at the Puke, where they had nobody to put it on for but each other and the losers paid for beers.
    â€œO.K., so you overslept. Then what happened?”
    â€œThen I woke up, man.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œIn bed, where did you think?”
    â€œAnd what time was that?”
    â€œI don’ know exackly. Must have been near one.”
    â€œYou didn’t know what time it was but you still knew you’d overslept, right?”
    â€œTha’s right. I oversleeps a lot during the season. I needs my sleep.”
    He had his head down, though. His hands were into his hair again and squeezing, like he was in a big wind and holding on to his wig. I glanced at Valérie, but she was still gazing out the window, counting chimneys.
    â€œThen what did you do?”
    â€œI got dressed, got me a cab, rode over to the Puke.”
    â€œYou didn’t eat breakfast?”
    â€œNaw, I wasn’t hungry.”
    â€œWhere’d you find the cab?”
    â€œDown on Abbesses, man. You can always find a cab down on Abbesses, pretty near.”
    Abbesses is the name of a street in Montmartre. Roscoe Hadley lived just up the hill from it.
    â€œSo you rode over to the gym in a cab. What time’d you get there?”
    â€œI don’ know. Say half an hour in the traffic. That’d make