The truth, whether I admitted it or not, was that I, Paul Cook, was a green nineteen-year-old for all my months of tender living with Sali. I shut my eyes. The woman-flesh locked around my desire. My body became a weapon beating at her, getting back at her for all the indignities I had endured.
Beneath me lay a woman who could not force me to marry her. Or to come home and obey her.
I was the boss.
* He was "Boss" to a customer-in her bedroom....
* He was "Baby" to a neighbor's wife-in her bedroom....
* He was "Naughty" to the nice girl who wouldn't let him-in her bedroom....
* But to the girl who said, "Let me stay with you, Paul, and I'll sleep with you all you want ... " he was the marvelous-
YOUNG TIGER
1
I GRABBED the six-pack of beer from the twenty-year-old gas fridge, slammed the narrow door and watched the ancient box rock back and forth.
I set the beer down hard on a chipped tile drain-board, brushed a gathering of empties into the small sink.
Where was the damned can opener? Harley's deep voice came from the apartment living room.
"Hey, Paul, did you fall?" He laughed.
Yeah, I fell all right. I fell for a big lie....
I glared through the kitchen doorway. Harley sprawled and Sali sat up straight on the beat-up wine-colored couch. Chuck sat on the floor, leaning against the kemtoned wall.
I said, "Where'd you hide the church key, Sali?"
She was mine. Possession is nine points of the law. She was chunky, red-haired, grown-up. Her chin was up. She looked right back at me. She wore a clean but faded blue sweat shirt and new white shorts. She was barefoot. She said, "I put it back in the drawer where it belongs."
I looked at the ten small drawers beneath the wall shelves. I yanked one open. Folded paper sacks saved from our trips to the market.
I slammed the drawer. "Which one? I never know where you put things."
Sali sighed sharply, set her unfinished can of beer on the cheap brown cotton rug and started to get up.
Harley slipped a hand under her left buttock.
He asked, "Need a lift?"
He pushed. She was on her feet.
She spun and coldly examined his lean grinning face, his soiled work shirt and pants.
"Not from you," she said. "Keep your filthy hands off me."
"Don't be mad at me, Sali. Any time you want, there's still room in my bed for you."
Sali bent and picked up the kitten which had crawled across the floor to mewl at her feet.
"I wouldn't shack with you again," she said, patting the kitten, "if you were the last man on earth."
"You like it here with Paul, huh?" Harley was teasing. "You like playing mama, Sali?"
"Wrong. I'm not his mama. For one thing, I don't need to tell him when to take a bath."
Harley flushed. "Since when are you particular who you sleep with?"
She ignored him. She cuddled the kitten under her chin, walked toward the doorway with a loose, hip-swaying grace that automatically drew the eyes of any male who was near.
She stopped, twisted from the waist to inspect the back of her shorts. She frowned at a grease-smudge fingerprint.
"Thanks," she said to Harley.
He smiled. "My brand."
I watched with increasing resentment. I knew I should have taken charge. Harley was treating Sali like she was a whore. But I wasn't sure how she expected him to treat her. I was mixed up.
I said, "C'mon, where's the can opener?" She came to me, veering around the rusting yellow dinette set.
"Mother will give you some milk, baby," she said as she put down the kitten.
When she straightened I grabbed her arms. I wanted to hurt her, punish her till she begged forgiveness.
Instead I pulled her into a corner out of sight of the living room and sought her lips.
She tensed and avoided the kiss. But an instant later she melted and her lips were soft and warm. Her deep breasts spread on my chest.
I slipped my hands under her sweat shirt and caressed her back, skating my fingers over the tight bra straps.
She pressed her thighs close and whispered, "What you do to me."
"You want me to get rid of Harley?"
"He doesn't bother me much. I just don't like to be reminded of things."
I nuzzled her throat. Yeah, things. She had come to me six months ago, despondent and suicidal.
Let me stay with you, Paul, and I'M sleep with you. ATI you want...
I had taken her in. She was twenty-eight. I was nineteen. We had both known we were making a deal for an emergency period-until she was back on her feet, until I was more experienced.
But we had developed a relationship. I liked living with Sali. Sometimes an overwhelming tenderness would well up in me.
I almost blurted the truth.
I love you....
I wasn't supposed to love her. She had slept around the beach. At least five men had shacked with her.
She had told me her life history. She was ashamed of what she had done and wanted to change.
"But only a kid like you," she had said, "would let me reform myself-in my own way. You know what the others say-once a ass, always a ass. Or else, 'get thee to a nunnery.' Only kids have faith and goodness. I know. I once was a kid."
She had been heavier when she first moved in, inclined to be slovenly and careless about her looks. Now she was neat and clean. She had lost twenty pounds.
But I wasn't supposed to love her. And if I loved her anyway, I could not admit the fact. Not to Sali, not to myself, not to anybody.
I began rhythmically squeezing her big, imprisoned breasts.
She breathed, "Don't get me all worked up. You know I can't stand waiting. The opener is in the top right-hand drawer."
I found the opener and began cracking the beers with short vicious movements. I couldn't afford the brands with the pull-tab tops. An apprentice TV repairman, if he keeps a woman, has to watch pennies.
Sali poured milk into the kitten's saucer. She was lovely, appealing, gentle.
In childhood I had been taught that a man lived with a woman only if they were married. But upstate, after one year on the beach, I had learned a different set of morals. Free and easy sex. No obligations. No marriage.
Some girls on the beach were on welfare-recent divorcees, maybe, with babies. Each was looking for a man to take care of her.
You met single girls who were mixed up, who were seeking punishment for neurotic sins. Other beach girls had been whores. Now they were willing to settle for a steady John. They were tired of the danger and uncertainty of picking up trick after trick, night after night.
You might even meet a girl like Sali on the beach-a basically good girl who had fallen into the gutter.
She put away the milk and turned to face me. She smoothed back my cowlick.
"Another kiss, darling?" she whispered.
I could not help frowning. Darling. Did she mean the word or had she used it with all her men?
She slumped when I did not kiss her. Her voice turned bitter.
"Sure, Sali was a tramp. You can't forget it, can you?"
She padded back to the living room with two cans of beer.
I followed her with my eyes. Her legs were magnificent, now that her weight was right. She had perfect calves, round solid thighs.
She wore shorts often because she was proud of her legs, never realizing they were actually too long for the rest of her.
On the other hand, she was shy about her tremendous breasts. She wore her shirts and blouses loose.
Chuck sat cross-legged on the floor next to my hi-fi portable, looked up as Sali approached him. He waggled the patch of chin fuzz he called a beard and accepted a beer.
She placed the other beer next to my place on the couch, away from Harley. She picked up her own unfinished can and deliberately moved away to the empty wine-colored armchair.
I was glad she had moved away from him.
Harley called, "Got any more beer, Paul? My former flame wants me to die of thirst."
She had made love to that corny slob. For two weeks she had let him use her body. I brought him a beer.
He took a long swallow, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said, "When are you going to switch to Chuck, Sali? He's the only one of us here you haven't tried."
My friend Chuck, a lean and bashful man, said, "Cool it, Harley."
I should have been the one to object. But before I could think of the words I wanted, Sali said, "Wait another six months before you visit us again, will you?" Her hand trembled on her beer can. Her voice was near hopelessness.
I said, "Let's drop it. Talk football or something."
But Harley kept on. "Why? Sex is always interesting and Sali is an expert. You ever have a better lay, Paul?"
"Drop it, I said," I yelled at him.
His brow furrowed.
"Hey, you're falling for her."
His mouth was ready to split in derisive laughter.
I became defensive. Hell, I worked with these guys all day in the shop. How could I admit I loved her? Harley was the kind of guy who prodded for a weakness in everybody, when he found it, kept chipping away with dirty irritating digs.
"Me?" I hollered at Harley. "I don't faU for anybody. You think I'm stupid?"
Sali got up quickly. She slammed the door to the bedroom.
I winced. I wanted to go to her, but not with loudmouthed Harley around. Chuck was a good joe. He could be trusted. Suddenly I hated Harley.
He chuckled. "She always had a temper. Let her sulk. She'll be back."
Chuck turned on the phonograph and played an old record. For a few minutes we drank our beer without speaking.
I wondered if Sali was crying.
As the record ended she came back into the living room. She walked to her chair and sat down.
She had fixed her face but I knew she had been upset. Something else about her was different.
"I told you she'd be back." Harley was smug, self-satisfied.
Sali sent him a venomous look. She drained her can and grimaced.
"This is lousy beer. Why don't we buy some decent stuff?"
I said, "I can't tell the difference."
"Well, I can. Am I ever tired of your penny-pinching."
What was she nagging me for? She knew what we had to live on. I was due for a big raise soon. I was sorry I'd hurt her feelings. Didn't she know that? Give me a chance and I'd apologize. But not in front of everybody.
She moved herself to a place on the floor beside Chuck. She ruffled his long unkempt hair.
"Are you my little beatnik?"
Harley laughed. Something cold formed in my belly. Chuck was embarrassed.
She teased, "Chuck, how about a kiss? Tickle my chin with your beard."
I said, "What are you trying to do?"
"Just trying to have a little fun. Just trying to enjoy myself."
"You're embarrassing Chuck."
"Am I?" Sali asked him.
Chuck devoted his attention to the phonograph. "No."
"See? Chuck doesn't mind." She leaned closer and kissed him.
I didn't realize I was gripping the couch till my fingers ripped through the old frieze covering.
Chuck broke the kiss and pushed her away. He grinned sheepishly.
Sali said, "I've been missing something. You really kiss once you get started, Chuckie."
She was worse than Harley. I couldn't handle either of them, it seemed. How could she let me down like this?
I said, "Get back in the chair. I'll bring you another beer."
"Who wants beer? I've got Chuck's kisses to make me drunk." She looked at me briefly, resentfully. "How about another kiss, Chuckie? Thrill me."
Damn it, my voice cracked when I yelled her name. I sounded, even to myself, like a brat.
She snapped back, "Quit giving me orders. Who do you think you are? My husband?" She laughed, hysteria edging her voice. "What an ego. He lets me do the cleaning, the cooking, the washing, lays me every night and still thinks I owe him something for the rotten roof over my head." She grabbed an empty beer can and threw it at me with a loud explanatory comment.
"I'll do what I want, with whom I want, where I want. As a matter-of-fact, I'm thinking of turning a few tricks during the day while you're working. Since money is so scarce, I mean." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Would you like that, Paul?"
She was hurting me, scaring me.
I said, "Sali-you're talking like a-"
"What? like a tramp? Why not say it? That's what you all think I am. I've got the name, why not play the game?" She turned to Chuck. "Want me? Ten bucks."
Chuck stared at her.
"Five bucks? Think I'm overcharging? Ask Harley. He knows how good I am. So does little old Paul Cook."
Harley reached for his wallet. "I'll give you ten, Sali. Right now."
Sali laughed. "See? Ol' Harley thinks I'm good. But Chuck is the one I want." She gripped the bottom of her sweat shirt. "Want to see what you're going to get?" She closed her eyes. Her mouth twitched. She jerked the sweat shirt over her head.
She had taken off her bra in the bedroom. We stared at her big, naked, cream-and-pink breasts. Her flesh was like ripe fruit. Her body shook and her breasts trembled with a kind of separate motion.
She jerked the sweat shirt down, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Harley and I moved at the same time. He forced a ten-dollar bill into her hand, tried to pull her to her feet.
I tore his hand away. I was half crazy with fear of losing her.
"Get out of here," I told him.
He grinned contemptuously. "You're stuck on her, ain't you? Stuck on a plain whore-"
I hit him. He staggered back and knocked a vase of fresh carnations off an end table, making a mess on the floor-flowers, water and shattered pottery.
Sali looked at us wildly, scrambled to her feet and ran into the bedroom.
Harley studied me with mean eyes. "Okay, sucker, keep her. If you think she's worth our friendship." He brushed past me, picked up his ten-dollar bill and went out. The apartment door closed noisily.
I stood and glared at nothing, panting, fists clenched, my mind a blind. I barely heard Chuck's hesitant goodbyes.
He said, "Hey, man, I'm sorry-"
He gave up and left.
After a moment I turned and walked stiff-legged into the bedroom.
2
SALI LAY face down, her fists clutching the green chenille bedspread, her breathing irregular. Again I felt that terrible fear of losing her love. I remembered the difference in our ages. I was desperate-I was sore.
I stood at the side of the bed. Her bare left foot extended past the edge of the bed and touched the leg of my pants.
The lines of her leg up to her shorts were perfect.
Her legs, I admitted to myself, were the right length for her body. I wanted to tell her so.
What I said aloud was, "Why didn't you take off your shorts, too?"
She rolled to face me, her eyes red-rimmed and wet. Her voice had no pride.
"You wanted me to, didn't you?"
"If you're going to dirty yourself and make a fool of me, why not go all the way?"
She sniffled. "I hate your guts."
"It's entirely mutual."
But the passion was gone from our voices.
Something's lost, I thought. For both of us....
Sali wiped her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand. "You want me to leave?"
My throat tightened. But I said, "Sure, if you want to. I don't care."
She nodded and looked away. "All right. There goes my nurse's-aide job."
"I don't need a nurse," I said.
"Who's talking about you? I applied at the hospital for a job. I used your name-Mrs. Paul Cook. The woman said I could expect a call."
"Stay here till they call you."
"No. Now I know how you feel about me."
I sat on the edge of the bed and touched her hand.
"Sali-please?"
The words came out wrong, hard and mechanical.
She misunderstood and pulled away.
"What do you want?" She did not read the anguish in my face. Her lips twisted but did not smile. "One more roll in the hay before I cut out?"
My throat was giving me problems when I tried to talk.
But I managed, "Sure. Why not."
"You're always ready to go, aren't you."
"You haven't been complaining. You seem to like it"
She nodded, still crying. "Sure. You're a great lover, honey. What do you expect a whore to say."
"You're not a whore."
"I'm not? Excuse me. I thought since I'm being treated like one-"
"I'm not treating you that way."
"No? All right, take me. See how you like it now." She flopped onto her back like a rag doll.
"Sali-"
"What's the matter, honey?"
I lost my head again.
"All right. Take off those shorts. You got them with my money, remember."
"How could I forget?"
She yanked viciously at the zipper, pushed the shorts down and kicked them off. Her panties followed.
I pointed at the sweat shirt. "That, too."
"You want everything, don't you?"
I nodded. "Yes. I want everything."
I wanted her love, her laughter, her respect, her happiness. But no one uses those words if he lives on the beach.
' She hesitated. I grabbed the sweat shirt. She struggled briefly, then raised her arms and let me tug it off. She covered her face.
I threw her shirt to the floor and began undressing in a frenzy of self-destruction, of perverse willingness to ruin hope and love.
Sali looked at me and shuddered. She lay back on the bed.
I kissed her. Her lips were unresponsive. I might as well have kissed a dummy. I touched and caressed her in ways I knew she liked.
She remained passive.
I knew black despair. She was lost. Nothing remained to me but a shell. I pressed my face between her glorious breasts. My eyes were closed. My hands tightened on her arm and thigh.
In a dark of my own making, I pleaded, "Sali, don't leave me. I need you. I love you."
The confession left me weak and scared. I repeated the words that had been so hard to say.
"I love you."
Would she laugh at me-point out that I was only a kid?
She did not speak.
I kissed her again. This time her lips came alive. They were warm and soft and sweet. I caressed her as before and she arched and trembled.
"Darling, don't keep me waiting," she said.
The same words she had used before my confession. Did I imagine a difference in tone?
Our loins merged in a pounding, soaring union.
* * *
I had known wild thrills when skiing forbidden slopes at impossible speed. I knew the same thrill, multiplied by a million, when Sali's gorgeous body was open to my loving assault.
Whatever other men she had known, they had not spoiled her for me-at instants such as this one. Her throbbing muscle resisted and invited me at once. A frenzied life current went on inside her where I had rammed in with my hunger, my loneliness, my fear.
She rose toward me, was thrust back, her flaring woman-hips unequal in strength to the sweet, timeless war between male and female. Forever she fought to rise-forever was driven back to the fortress of herself.
The long flawless legs were entwining me, the great breasts were cushions beneath my crazily pounding heart. Breasts that might have mothered a secret world. Legs that clasped my victory between them.
Was she different from other women? Did she lack a freshness I would have found in a girl my own age? Or was she more skillful at lovemaking than any young girl whom I could possibly have caressed?
I guessed she was different. I would have sworn she was different-she was the one I wanted. But I did not know for a fact because, with me, Sali was first. Before Sali I had known some stupid petting that had led at most to hopeless arousal.
The girls back home, no matter how close they played to fire, had always turned out to be nice girls-which meant my folks knew their folks and the answer at the end was no.
After I came to live on the beach, I could have had girls like pebbles. Few thought of themselves as bums. All most of them asked was that you respect them as persons-after that you could knock them down, shove it in, kiss them goodbye. Maybe because of my upbringing the regular beach-type lovemaking would have made me sick.
I wanted triumph.
I wanted to make a billion dollars, fly to Mars, father a race of giants. I wanted freedom. Even freedom from guilt.
To achieve these ends I had left home. What I had so far accomplished was an apprentice job-and Sali.
She was older than I. She was as old as life-and as young as life. She was everything female, the person who comforted me and lusted for me. She nourished, she challenged, she punished and rewarded beyond my wildest dreams.
She was a reward.
The squares in the world outside thought of her as a somewhat used doll. Sometimes I was one of them.
With my body assaying hers, while I tested my strength in her sweetness, I knew better.
We raced, not playing fair, using all kinds of tricks in trying to win. Joyously not playing fair. Our tongues touched. Beneath me, her face twisted from side to side in mock effort at escape. I pretended to hold back, to pinion her in place with my weight while considering something else. We both tried to hold out.
She lost. She always lost, one of the things I loved about her.
She whimpered, "Don't keep me waiting. I love you, Paul. I can't stand it. Can't stand all this love-"
The fortress had fallen.-Hail the conquering army. Enter the hero, the Mars explorer, the earth-shaker.
Once more I am a man....
How gentle I was in conquest, how wise and kind. Let the city rejoice. Tonight we sleep in peace.
* * *
As I floated beside her in a sea of relaxation, I heard her soft weeping. I was scared.
I said, "Sally, what's wrong? Something I did?"
She whispered, "I know I've been a tramp. But I'm not naturally bad. When you and I are alone-I sometimes feel I'm twenty again. The age I was before I went to pieces."
"You're only twenty-one now," I said.
We both knew her age-twenty-eight-and her story.
"When we're apart, I feel like forty. I've gone through too much." She kept crying softly. "Hey-"
"I can't help it, Paul. You were ashamed of me when your friends were here. Maybe I don't blame you. You're sweet and nice-but you don't want me the way I need to be wanted."
"I love you."
"Do you want to marry me?" The words scared me. I wasn't making enough money for marriage. I thought of the ragging I'd get at the shop, the comments Harley would make, if I married Sali.
We'd have to move. As a married couple, we'd be laughed out of even this oddball beach town. Move--where? Could I take Sali home to my parents? The shock, I guessed, would put my mother in a sickbed for the rest of her life. Besides, the other men bothered me, those Sali had lived with. I wished suddenly that she had told me less of her past, even though I had asked.
The seconds passed. My hesitation was answer enough.
I could only say, "I love you. Why can't we keep on the way we are?"
"Do I have to tell you? Because I love you, too. Because living like this isn't enough any more. It makes me feel dirty."
She was putting pressure on me. Sure, I wanted to get married in a few years-when I had a better job, when I was sure I wanted to settle down, when I knew I had the right girl.
I loved Sali so much that losing her would be death. But marriage to Sali would be another kind of death.
I got up and began to dress.
"I'll think about it," I said.
She turned on her side and was quiet. Too quiet. As though I had socked her.
I felt like a bastard. I wanted to break something. Instead I went into the front room and cleaned up the water and flowers from the broken vase.
A few minutes later Sali came out of the bedroom in a skirt and blouse.
"What do you want to eat for supper?" she asked in a calm voice.
I told her anything was all right.
"Hamburger, can of peas, a salad?"
"Yeah, okay."
I sat on the couch and read a magazine while she made the supper. I looked at pictures without seeing them. I had been a fool to tell her that I loved her.
I switched on my portable seventeen-inch TV and watched the news.
Sali called me to the table. I turned off the set. We ate quickly and silently. Usually we made jokes and puns, listened to some good FM music. The only background sounds during tonight's supper were the clink and scrape of knife and fork.
"More meat?"
I shook my head. I found I was no longer hungry. "I didn't mean to upset you, Paul, by talking about marriage."
"Who's upset?"
"I can't help changing my attitude. I'm a different person-even physically. I'm thinner. I'm down to a hundred twenty from one forty-five."
She didn't have to point out that she was getting prettier every day. If she had been a pig, I could have cut loose. But she was Sali and I loved her.
I suggested a walk on the beach.
We left the apartment and went down two flights of stairs. I checked the mailbox as we left the building. Nothing. Mother hadn't written me since that Sunday three months ago when she and Dad had paid us a surprise visit.
Sali stopped and took off her shoes before we crunched through the loose sand. After a hundred yards we reached firmer footing near the surf.
The mile-distant pier featuring amusement-park rides was a blaze of lights. We heard screams from the roller-coaster riders.
For a while we walked in silence. The sea hissed to within a few feet of us. A stray dog scampered across the sand. Sali called to him, roughed his jaw. She loved animals.
I watched her and remembered that damned Sunday.
Sali and I had been in bed, naked, blissful in each others' arms after sex, expecting more of the same after a late breakfast.
When we heard the knock on the door, we had thought the caller Chuck or the manager to fix the leaking bathtub faucet. I had put on my robe and opened the door to my mother and father.
"Hello, Paul. Remember us?"
Mother's eyes had peered past me, taking the measure of the apartment.
I had never told them about Sali. I had always gone home to see them rather than have them visit me on the beach.
"Aren't you going to invite us in?" Mother had asked.
Sali had called from the bedroom, "Who's there, Paul?" She had appeared in my spare robe, a white terry cloth that had made her look heavier than she was.
For an agonizing second everyone had stared. I had wanted to die. I had blushed and stammered.
"Sali, this is my mother and father. M-mother, this is Sali Green."
They all had said formal how-do-you-dos. Sali had excused herself, gone back to the bedroom to dress.
I said, "We were going to go down to the beach for some sun."
Mother had smiled. "Yes, dear. We should have called before coming. I'm sorry. We'll go now."
"You don't have to," I had protested.
"I think it's best. Come visit us soon. It's been weeks."
I had said, "I'll come out Saturday. Goodbye, Mother. I'll see you, Dad."
"Fine."
That had been Dad's only word. Mother was the boss in the family. The talker, too.
The day had been ruined. Sali had cried for hours in humiliation and shame.
Marriage between us would be one long ruined Sunday.
I watched white foam sweep toward my feet. Sali threw a piece of driftwood for the dog to chase. He scampered away.
In the seminight, with the glow of the far-off city overhead, she was beautiful. I felt torn apart.
"Paul, we have to talk some time about the future. You have to understand-I'm not a drifter any more."
"Not now. Don't push me, please."
"I won't have to push you. Pretty soon, one way or another, life will do the pushing. I can't go on being just a shack-up for you."
"Give me a little time, will you?" I pleaded.
"Do you really love me?"
"Yes, damn it."
"Want to walk back now?"
I turned and we headed back. I was glad the next day was Monday-but I dreaded what Harley would have to say.
With what sense of freedom I had escaped to the beach when I first left home.
Now I was trapped again. I had no place of escape-unless I decided to cut off my own head. I wanted to escape the horrible specter of marriage-but losing Sali would Mil me.
3
HARLEY WAS on the job ahead of me the next morning. I saw his old black Pontiac with the crumpled right front door already parked in the lot when I pulled in.
I walked in by the back way. Chuck was sweeping up. He was our handyman. He smiled, raised a hand in greeting. We both knew I was in for a rough day.
I took off my jacket and put on my smock.
Chuck said, "Harley's in front, telling Herb all about it."
Herb Fulkin was our boss.
The smock had green script letters on the back, spelling my name.
"Think I'll be wearing this after today?" I asked.
Chuck said, "Your private life is none of Herb's business."
"Harley's his favorite. Harley could queer me."
"You're almost as good as Harley is. Herb knows that." He rested on his broom. "How's Sali?"
"We patched up a truce." I took a deep breath. "I hope there's an early service call I can take." I went through the doorway to the service area.
Herb saw me.
I called, " 'Morning."
Herb nodded. Harley turned.
"Speak of the devil." His eyes were mean. I saw a welt on his jaw where I had hit him. "When are you and Sali getting married, tough guy?"
I ignored him and went to the desk where Pearl Fulkin, Herb's spinster daughter, took calls and kept the books.
"Anything for outside this morning?" I asked her.
She obviously had heard everything Harley had had to say. She looked at me from big dark eyes that were set in a sallow face. She smiled and shook her head.
I winked at her to show I felt no pain. She took it the wrong way. Pearl was not ugly, just unattractive. She was skinny, wore the wrong kind of clothes and wallowed in self-pity. She took every possible gesture or word as a sign of male interest. She gave me an answering look that I guessed was coy.
I turned to the line of TV chassis on the work benches. One of my jobs had developed a vertical roll during the night. The second-hand tube Herb had insisted I use had not stood up to the all-night "on" test.
Harley said, "Hey, tough guy, I asked you a question."
I glanced at Herb. I knew Harley would lay off when Herb told him to quit, not before. I said nothing.
Harley leaned elbows on the counter between the service area and the sales display.
"Know what you did when you slugged me, tough guy? You defended her honor." His grin was dirty. "Just like she was a virgin."
I said, "Lay off."
"Now she thinks you love her truly. like in the soap commercials."
I took the faulty tube from the set with shaking hands.
"You're getting in deeper and deeper." I threw the dud into the bad-tube bucket. "She'll never let you go now. You probably kissed and made up, huh? What did you promise? Look, kid, I hate to see you suckered."
"I said, lay off."
"Now she thinks you really love her." Herb interrupted him. "Harley, check your tube caddies. Get with it." Harley said, "Sure."
Still grinning, he went into the back room.
Herb told me, "You shouldn't have hit him. I don't like trouble between my employees."
"He started it, last night and now."
Herb sighed and walked away to unlock the front door. The time was a minute of nine.
I put a new tube into the set I was repairing.
Pearl said, "Harley's right, Paul. You shouldn't get serious about a tramp like Sali."
I looked at her bony arms, the line of her crab-apple breasts beneath a flowered, ridiculous blouse. I almost said words that would have made her cry. Pearl cried easily.
Instead I reminded her that I wanted the first service call that came in. I wanted to be away from Harley as much as possible.
When I reached for my soldering gun, I saw it on Harley's workbench. I took it back. He was always borrowing tools and never returning them.
He came back into the service area and started to work on a set that needed a new circuit board.
"Hey, what happened to the gun?"
"I'm using it," I said.
"Like hell you are." He reached for my tool. I moved it away from him. "Use your own."
"I left it home. C'mon, Cook, for Pete's sake."
"Tough."
I liked the way his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened.
He stepped toward me. I got up off my stool. He said, "I really got your goat, didn't I? Did I hit a nerve?"
"You ask politely for the loan of my tools after this-or you don't get them."
"What if I ask politely for Sali? Do I get her?"
A dirty grin twisted his face.
"You'll get a mouthful of fist."
"Yeah? I'm waiting, tough guy. You swing on me again and I'll take you apart and shove a picture tube up-"
Pearl called, "Father."
Herb came at a run from the front of the store.
He yelled angrily, "That's enough. Too much is too much from you two."
Pearl shushed him. The phone was ringing. We stood silent, glaring, as she took the name and address of a woman with TV trouble.
Herb told me to make the call, take Chuck along and charge at least ten dollars.
Chuck and I drove to the west side of town in one of the two red-and-white company trucks.
As we threaded through traffic, he asked, "What's the job?"
"A color set, a big console."
If I couldn't fix it in the woman's home, I would need Chuck to help me bring the set to the shop.
His silence made soothing company.
But after a while he said, "Hey, I'm having a little blast at my pad tonight. You and Sali are invited."
"I'm down. I'd spoil the party."
"This isn't a big thing. Couple of friends. You'll enjoy the talk."
"Zeke going to be there?"
"Sure. Come about eight."
Zeke was the old man of the beach, the original beatnik. He lived in a converted garage beyond the Coast Guard station. I had met him a month before at a similar get-together at Chuck's. The old man fascinated me.
I said, "Okay. I'll tell Sali."
The more I thought of it, the more I liked the invitation. The affair would fill the evening, would put off any decision about Sali and myself.
Chuck's party would prolong my drifting time.
* * *
The set on the west side of town was in worse shape than the woman had described. After testing a few less expensive possibilities, I realized a new picture tube was needed.
"With labor," I told the woman, "this could come to a hundred bucks. If I were you, I'd buy a new one. They make them better these days."
She was old, past thirty, but I guessed you could have called her good-looking. What I noticed about her first-as much as I noticed her at all because, hell, I was in her house to fix the television, not to pass judgment-was her hair.
She wore it long and loose like the chicks did on the beach. But the long loose look was fake. For one thing, her hair was so clean you could almost smell the soap. What you smelled on the chicks' hair was plenty at times-but never soap. So that part was fake.
The color was something else. Pink. A real deep pretty pink, same color as her lipstick and her shorts. For some reason the color was so natural on her that I was in the room with her for five minutes before
I caught on. Nobody grows pink hair in his sleep-the color was a fake, too. Except that it wasn't meant to fool you, only to cheer you up.
The beat babes, when they painted their mouths, either used livid colors that made them look like corpses, or jump-out ones that could have come from guzzling blood.
Mrs. Glennon, in her clean little thirty-thousand-dollar shack, pink shorts, pink hair, pink sandals, was only a fake beat.
She pouted when I told her the big tube was off.
"I won't replace the set," she said. "The cabinet's a piece of furniture and it goes with my other pieces. I've cherished it. I've hand-polished it. As far as I'm concerned, there never has to be a picture on the screen. I hate TV. I'm only having it fixed for my husband's sake."
Chuck, standing by, politely said, "Yes, ma'am."
I told her we'd have to go back to the shop for the picture tube. We didn't carry a selection of big items on service calls.
"Unless," I offered, "we take the set with us and bring it back when it's fixed."
She stamped her foot. The pink hair shimmered and quivered around her shoulders. She said that no one was going to take her furniture into some filthy old repair shop. She was just as upset at the prospect of our leaving.
"Once you go out that door," she accused us, "you won't come back for a month. I've had more trouble trying to get repairmen to answer calls-I could write a book and call it Waiting For The Repairman. One of you has to stay. The other one can go and get the tube."
She had a way of throwing words like she was the lawyer for the other side. She had me so mixed up that where I should have had thoughts, all I had was perspiration. Boy, was this ever somebody else's Monday-it sure as hell was not mine.
I yelled at Chuck, "You heard the lady. Go back to the shop and get the tube. I'll stay."
I heard myself. If Chuck, my good friend, had been running berserk with a knife, I'd have had reason to yell the way I did. I was giving him the comeback I should have given her and I realized it.
Chuck gave me a sad look. At times his patch of beard seemed the appurtenance of a saint.
"I'm not supposed to leave him here alone with you, ma'am," he said to Mrs. Glennon. "They always send me along with him on calls. Sort of to keep him out of trouble."
What was he doing to me? A crack like that could get both of us fired. If I'd been thinking straight, I'd have realized he was trying to handle a pink-haired beautiful nut by any means he could.
I shouted him down. Chuck, a believer in nonviolence, made no more protest. He went away, promising to return with a picture tube from the shop, leaving me alone-and idle-with a bad-tempered, good-looking, pink-haired woman.
Because suddenly I didn't know where to put my hands or how to hold my face, I kneeled in front of the set and continued to tinker with it. Mrs. Glennon stood behind me, a few feet away, watching critically.
"What's the sense in what you're doing?" she asked. "If you haven't got all your parts you're getting nowhere." She laughed. The laughter was fake like her hair, was meant to be fake. I was afraid to turn around. "That reminds me of a ass joke. If you were a little older I'd tell you about a man who doesn't have all his parts. You're only a boy, aren't you? A great big boy with nice wide shoulders. Is your bearded friend for real? He looks to me like a beach ass."
I mumbled, still facing the set, "Chuck's a good man."
I had started wishing he would hurry back. A certain stupidity had taken over my fingers. They touched the set but no longer with sense or know-how.
"Will you for heaven's sake turn and face me? Your manners are disgusting. I want to talk over the repair job."
I stood up and faced her. Her features were small and fine-firm cream-colored jaw, turquoise eyes, a dainty nose. She was as tall as Sali but so much smaller in girth that she looked half the size. For the first time I noticed a long pale scar that threaded the suntan of her thigh. Otherwise she was fault-free as though she were factory-made, pink shorts, sleeveless pink shirt and alL
I had heard of guys undressing girls with their eyes. A wild feeling came over me that this little pink customer was stripping me in her mind. I wanted to yell, to cover my nakedness.
I was embarrassed.
I said, "What about the repair job?"
The turquoise eyes flashed. The tinted hair shimmered. For some damned reason, I had an impulse to fight her, as though she were my mother.
Or as though she were Sali.
This imitation chick was not only screwballs--he was a bossy screwball. Was there something about a guy my size that attracted bossy females? Were they always wanting to cut him down? The one I loved wanted to turn me into her husband-the one in my home town wanted to change me back into her little kid.
The one with pink hair, the beautiful kookie stranger, said, "I'm expert on repairs. I'm a repair myself."
While I thought I had heard her wrong, she continued, stroking herself to indicate the parts of herself she named, "This nice clean jaw. The left leg, matching the right one like they were made for each other. The nose. Half the teeth. Two years ago, Mister Repairman, my drunken loving husband drove us home from a party and into a parked truck. We'll never know the speed. Maybe one-twenty. When the pieces were picked up, we were not too pretty. Wonderful plastic surgeons have done as much as they could."
I forgot the TV set. The fake chick was not kidding, I realized-she was real, authentic fake. I was fascinated. I said something dumb about the surgeons having done a swell job.
Her smile was both pink and bitter. "Surgery has its limits," she said. "Some of Roger's injuries were beyond help. Need I say more? Yes, I see by your youthful blank stare that I'll have to draw you pictures or you won't understand. He can't make love to me any more. To me-or anyone else. I ask you, sonny-isn't that a hell of a note? I mean, I'm better than new, I'm right out of the doll factory. I don't even know how they put me back together and I guess I'll never find out. Because the boy-doll-my legal mate, that is-well, the key's still there but it doesn't wind. The spring is busted. You get my point?"
I said I was sorry to hear of her troubles. I said a few seconds later, "I wish you wouldn't cry."
The bossiest of them all, I thought confusedly, saved the tears for last Tears were the low blow.
She sobbed, "Why not? I don't look funny when I cry, like real people do. My face gets wet, is all."
She was carrying the joke too far, giving me the creeps.
I yelled, "You're real. Quit acting."
Suddenly the space disappeared between us and she was close to me, clutching at me with slender strong bare arms. Even in this nutty caress, she was giving me orders.
"Show me, Mister Repairman," she murmured hectically. "Show me how good a job they did. Am I still a woman? Tell me."
I wanted to slug her to pay her off for the ordering of me around. Instead I clung to her, one arm across her back, one hand gripping the long pink hair. I pulled until she grimaced in mocking half-pain, half-triumph. If she had meant to get a rise out of me, she was getting it.
After that neither of us spoke. We were too busy for speech. The body in my arms was real. The lips that thirstily searched mine were warm and human.
I knew where the bedroom would be-where it usually is in a ranchhouse bungalow-at the end of a corridor, sometimes behind a patio and sometimes not. On that special Monday morning I was paying little attention to architectural details.
What I felt was part lust, part rage-and all of me was needy with denied desire. Desire for freedom, desire for power and peace. I threw her on her bed and tore off the pink shorts. Beneath them she had worn a mist of nylon briefs. When I pulled down the briefs, she kicked as though stamping her foot on air.
I fell upon her, naked from the waist down, using no niceties-I knew of none. The truth, whether I admitted it or not, was that I, Paul Cook, was a green nineteen-year-old kid for all my months of tender living with Sali.
I shut my eyes. The woman-flesh beneath me locked around my desire, swayed with it, throbbed with it. My body became a weapon, beating at her, knocking into her, bruising and getting back at her for all the indignities I had ever known, all the imprisonments I had endured. Her loins quivered and darted like a million tangled live wires but I could not be harmed.
I was Paul Cook, the conqueror. Beneath me lay a woman who could not force me to marry her. Or to come home and obey her. I was the boss.
A blast of icy sweetness seemed to emanate from a point above her belly. Little by little, a torpor came over my movements. Our union, instead of rushing madly to a climax and sudden halt, slow-motioned over a crest of near-unendurable pleasure.
I heard a gasp of surprise and pain-mine.
She seemed to shrink away from me, though still clinging with arms and legs. Chill and sweet as strawberry ice, her love became a treat that trickled away.
Dazed and shaken, I lifted myself, hovered above her, resting my weight on my knees and the haunches of my palms. Strong sunlight filled the room. For a moment or so my vision was blurred.
When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "That was the real thing. Do you know you're a nice kid?"
I wondered if her husband would agree.
"You'd better get dressed," I said. I stood up and found my pants. I watched her slip those good legs into the nylon briefs and the pink shorts. Her face wore a pleased and dreamy expression. Her clothes back in place, she lingered on the bed, clasping her knees.
"If you want to take my TV away, go ahead," she told me. "I'll be counting the days till you bring it back."
The turquoise eyes flashed gaily.
The freedom I had felt was still available. I knew what was wrong with it. like the fake chick's pink hair, the freedom, too, was fake.
I went back into the living room, letting her follow or not as she chose.
Chuck showed up with the new picture tube a few minutes later. I told him the chick was now willing to have us take the set out.
He sighed.
We moved the set out. She saw us off from her back door.
Chuck said as we drove, "You've got a way, man, with the grown-up girls. Glad she let us out of there with the box."
I was too startled to comment. Did the whole world talk about me-and one grown-up girl in particular?
Chuck went on talking idly, reminding me of the party that night at his pad.
I promised him that Sali and I would come.
4
THE SKY WAS still hot and bright when I got home that evening at six-thirty. A wind from the east had carried hot desert air over the basin. Sali had all the windows open. I heard her humming cheerfully in the kitchen. I wanted to kiss her. The fake chick of my morning repair call had been a teaser to an appetite. Would a kiss encourage Sal to think I had decided in favor of marriage?
I skipped the kiss. I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her frying pork chops.
She had tied her red hair back in a short ponytail.
She smiled and said, "Hi. It's almost ready. Why not put on some blues?"
We both loved the same singer's husky-sad voice and stark phrasing. I stacked three records and turned the knob to start the player, wondering if Sali was being too cheerful.
By the time I had washed up, the table was set with baked potatoes, pork chops, a big salad that made my mouth water and baked squash. She had gone to a lot of extra effort.
A haunting version of My Man drifted from the phono. I sat down at the rusty-legged table with a sick feeling in my gut. Sali loved and wanted and needed me.
I felt choked with a sense of imprisonment. I had known a fake freedom this morning. But the imprisonment was real. I said, "Chuck invited us over to his place tonight." She beamed. "All right."
If I had asked her to jump out of the window, would she have jumped to prove her love?
An hour later we walked down the promenade in the warm eastern breeze. The heat had brought out all of the beach-town population of misfits, freaks and oddballs.
Elderly immigrant types filled the cement benches.
In spite of the heat they were bundled up in coats and scarves. They watched the strolling young people, the offbeats, the lesbians, the beatniks, with stoic acceptance of what the world was coming to.
Chuck lived in an old gray house that had been amateurishly converted into apartments. Sali and I climbed the porch steps and went inside. The entranceway was cluttered with empty wine bottles and torn newspaper. A smell of dry rot prevailed.
The sound of hot jazz pounded through the ugly brown panels of Chuck's door. He opened to our knock, let us in to a full house.
His place was lit by candles. He had discovered a box of candles in the shop storeroom and helped himself to a means of saving electricity.
His girl, Karla, sprawled on the covered mattress in a corner. She wore the long black tights under a skirt, the sweat shirt, sandals, ponytail and bored expression that were standard with all true beat chicks. She worked as a waitress in a Santa Monica restaurant and was thick of thigh and ankle.
A dark-skinned man with a long goatee squatted near the phonograph, beating his palm on the bare wooden floor in time with the jazz. His goatee was longer than Chuck's.
Zeke sat cross-legged on the mattress beside Karla. His long mane of white hair showed signs of recent and inexpert trimming. He was lean and intense. His blue eyes could drill into your soul.
Chuck had thrown out all the chairs. Sali and I sat on old discolored pillows. The walls were painted black. At night in the flickering candlelight the effect was impressive. During the day it was only morbid.
Chuck said, "This is Harmon Kry. He plays jazz guitar." He indicated the dark man with the fullgrown goatee. Harmon dipped his head without missing a beat. Sali and I said hello.
Zeke said to me, "Still fixing the idiot boxes for the idiots?"
I grinned. "That's right."
I handed Chuck a bottle of cheap wine. You go to a beat get-together, if you're an outsider, with a contribution.
Zeke said, "Do you have any higher goal in life?"
"Yes," I said. "I'd like to get into more complicated electronics."
He ran a long bony hand through his hair.
"Computers? I see them in the extinction of homo sapiens." He smiled, keeping his lips closed. His teeth were rotten and he liked to keep them hidden. "Man will become a slave to his machines. Planes, phones, television-and now a mechanical brain."
Zeke rambled on. The first time I had heard him, I had thought he was great. In the semidarkness I felt Sali's hand cover mine. She leaned over and kissed my neck. She had to keep reminding me.
Chuck passed my bottle of wine to Harmon. Harmon smiled and nodded to me before taking a swig.
Zeke said, "And what of the free people? A few of us may be left to carry on. We'll have to hide. Probably the machines will advise our elimination. You squares-" he meant me-"will dutifully hunt us down and slaughter us."
I said, "That's garbage." Zeke's magic was not working on me tonight. "What the hell do you mean by free people? Who's free?"
"Ah, who indeed? Everyone has a slavery of his own. But a free man knows the truth. A square locks himself in his mind's subconscious dungeons."
The wine bottle reached Karla. She gulped three times and shuddered.
She said abruptly, too loudly, "You'n Sali are squares, aren't you, Paul?"
I said, "I suppose so. Basically."
"Then what are you doing here? You're a hypocrite."
Chuck tried to shut her up.
She insisted, "You think we're kind of nutty. You think you're better than we are but you haven't got the guts to be better by your own rules."
Zeke sighed. "Ah, Karla has pinned you." He drank from my bottle. The jazz record ended and Harmon stopped beating the floor. In the sudden quiet Zeke's voice turned loud and clear. "You're slumming. You're tourists. You, Paul, you're living in sin with Sali, aren't you? That's wrong according to square morality. Yet you plan to go on that way."
Sali took her hand from mine. "Not me. I want to get married."
Chuck said, "Turn the record over. Let's not make a bad scene."
He looked at Zeke.
Zeke was too old to care.
He pronounced pompously, "Paul is a louse by his own rules. Not by ours. Yet we are the ones he blames. He uses us as the garbage pail for his guilt. You heard him use the word-garbage."
Karla said, "It's like a double standard."
Zeke touched her leg in a gesture of approval. "Excellent. The double standard is the opiate of the squares."
I said angrily, "Looks like I'm the target for tonight."
"If the double standard fits-" My fists clenched. "Knock it off. You're all supposed not to care about money but you all work. You all accept your paychecks. And you all bite the hand that feeds you."
Karla said, "We work to eat. We don't want a split-level soul trap in the suburbs with mortgages and car payments and taxes."
"No," I yelled at her. "You want to sit around griping and condemning anyone who tries to get ahead."
Zeke chuckled. "You call the rat race getting ahead?"
Sali jumped into the fight on my side. "A woman wants some security for herself and her children."
Was that the kind of support I wanted?
Chuck said, "Let's cool it, people." He looked at me apologetically. "Squares need a few beats around to stir the issues. Beats need squares to put down. Let's appreciate each other."
Karla remained surly. I think she resented Sali's prettiness and superb figure.
She said, "At least when Chuck and I make it together we don't feel we're committing a crime or a big sin or something."
I started to my feet. "This isn't going to work."
Harmon said, "Don't get bugged, man."
Sali followed me into the filthy hallway. I kicked an empty whiskey bottle. It skidded, bounced and rolled near the dim stairway at the rear.
Chuck came after us. He was miserable.
"I'm sorry, Paul. I didn't think it would go this way."
"That's okay, Chuck. No great harm done-all I'm out is sixty-nine cents for wine."
He winced. "They're pretty ungrateful sometimes. They figure the squares owe them something. Zeke especially."
I told him not to feel bad, to go back to his guests. As we walked away from the house I felt Sali's arm slip companionably into mine.
"What do we care for them?" she said. "You and I have each other."
"They had no right to ride me that way."
"You were extra sensitive. The last time we saw Zeke he said the same things and you didn't blow up."
"Don't you start-"
The twilight had died a purple death. The spaced overhead lights extended in a glowing line down the beach front.
Sali said mildly, "Let's walk by the water."
"No." I walked a little faster so that she almost had to run to keep up.
"Paul, don't be mad at me."
I slowed, ashamed of myself. Then I became more angry at her for making me feel ashamed. She said, "Have you decided about us."
"Don't push."
"I have to know. That's only fair to me. What do you want to do, keep on thinking about it for a year?"
I made a face at the dark. I wanted to hit somebody. I picked out a shambling wino coming toward us. I wanted to step into his path and put everything I had into one punch-all my frustration and anger-wham, right between his bloodshot eyes.
But I let him go. My mother would have disapproved of my hitting him.
"Are we through, engaged, what?" Sali asked.
I stopped abruptly and faced her. "All right. If we get engaged I'll have to get another job. We'll have to move away from the beach. Then there's my mother-"
"Why would we have to move?"
"I don't want to be thought a fool by everyone I see around here. I don't want to meet guys you've-"
The stiffening in her shoulders made me stop short.
"That answers my question. Thank you."
Sali ran away from me, toward the sand.
I watched her as long as I could, at war with myself, wanting to follow her yet wanting to be rid of her. I would never forget the tone in her parting words.
When she was out of sight I walked slowly toward the apartment. I was shaking, sick to my stomach. Old women watched me from the benches with prim mouths set in disapproval. Maybe they thought I was an addict looking for a fix.
The apartment was still warm. I turned on all the lights and pulled my suitcases from the closet. As I packed I listened for Sali on the stairs. She didn't come home.
I carried my bags down to the car, then my phonograph. I decided to leave her the TV. To remember me by.
My throat was tight. I went to the window and looked out at the street. The promenade was a block away. I scanned what I could see of the beach.
Was she out there, crying?
I went downstairs to the hall phone and called my mother. I could see my folks in my mind's eye sitting in the living room watching TV.
As the phone rang, Mother would say to Dad, Who could that be?
She would put down her sewing on the second ring.
She answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Mom, this is Paul."
"Oh, Paul, dear. I was just saying to. your father I wished you'd come over this weekend. You could stay the night-"
"Mother."
"-and go back Sunday."
She always finished what she had planned to say come hell or high water.
I said, "Sali and I are breaking up. I'm leaving here."
"Well, you come right home. You know you're always welcome. We want you back."
I listened for the downstairs door to open, for Sali's steps. A need for affection and security and care nearly overwhelmed me.
"Is it okay if I come home tonight?"
"Of course, Paul. Your room is all ready for you. You come home whenever you want. We'll be waiting."
I hung up and stood alone in the hall. A TV blared in a nearby apartment. I went upstairs to what had been home.
I went to the window again. The street and the beach were empty. I kept swallowing tears. A grown man crying. Pitiful.
I wrote her a short note:
Sali, I'm sorry. I can't think straight. Here's some money. I wish it could be more. I do love you. Paul.
I had forty dollars. I left twenty. The rent was paid for another three weeks. In the back of my mind I thought of giving her more later, after my next pay day.
After I got my next job.
I started for the window again and stopped myself. I turned out the lights, locked the door and went to the street slowly, still hoping.
Finally I was in my car. I started the motor and roared toward the boulevard.
The drive north was going to be long and lonely.
5
I PULLED TO the curb and sat in my car for a few minutes before going into the familiar brick-front shake-sided house of my childhood.
The blue station wagon was in the driveway. The lawn was closely mowed, the flower beds immaculate. Dad kept himself busy with the yard and the small greenhouse in back. Sometimes I thought his interest was more to escape the house than to care for flowers.
I gripped the steering wheel too tightly. The front window was lighted behind Venetian blinds. The folks were in there, waiting up.
I took my suitcases from the trunk and walked up the driveway to the kitchen door. One of Mother's cats, Mugsy, ran to be let in.
I opened the door.
Mother called, "Is that you, Paul?"
"Yes."
I could hear the late TV show in the living room.
She came into the kitchen quickly, a young-looking, middle-aged woman who had not let her body go too fat. She wore flannel pajamas under a robe. Her hair was in some kind of plastic cap. Her face was pasty white under a sheen of cold cream.
She opened her arms, embraced and kissed me.
"Welcome home, dear."
She was a stranger. Where was the love I remembered? Had absence changed me-or her? In her slippers she seemed shorter than I recalled her. Her chest was flat.
Why was I comparing her to Sali? And to my quickie girl friend, the Glennon chick?
Mother stepped back. "I have some chicken in the oven. You must be hungry."
Dad came into the kitchen. He was big, running to fat in the gut, graying, pouches under his eyes. He wore a blue paisley robe and nothing else. He slept naked. He was bare-footed. He extended his hand.
"Glad you're showing some sense."
"I don't know what I'm showing," I said.
I took his hand and his grip was uncertain.
Mother was setting the breakfast table with a plate and silver.
I said, "I'm not hungry, Mom, really."
"You've got to eat to keep your strength. You're still-"
"I can't eat this late."
"-my baby and I know what's best for you. Father, you take his bags upstairs for him."
"No, hey-"
But Dad took my bags over my protest. I sat at the table and picked up a chicken leg.
Mother wanted to talk as I ate.
I finally said, "Please go to bed. I'm keeping you up."
She saw the misery in my eyes and went away. I scraped my plate, rinsed it, put the chicken in the refrigerator. The old house seemed to be breathing in its sleep.
I turned off the downstairs lights and went up to my old room. Everything had been changed. My prints of modern paintings were gone. In their places were framed magazine illustrations of country lanes.
The room smelled-in fact, it stank-of cleanliness. My books were gone. The bookcase shelves held extra ashtrays and knickknacks. This was my room-butx changed to suit Mother.
I stripped to my shorts and got into the twin bed. The sheets were cold. I lay alone and thought. For now, anyway, I'd better try to get to my job in the morning even if I had to get up an hour earlier to make the long drive.
I got out of bed and unpacked my alarm clock. When I crept back between strange sheets I was conscious of their narrowness, achingly aware that Sali was not snuggling her body to mine.
I wanted her large toasty warm breasts pressing my arm and chest, her thighs to mine, her face against my shoulder as she slept. I wanted to awake to the sweet mischief of her hand on my need of her, to hear her voice.
We've stitt got fifteen minutes before the alarm goes off....
I moaned and turned and twisted the pillow. One of Mother's cats yowled outside like a baby. I'd be lucky to get three hours of sleep. Why had Sali betrayed me with the rotten demand for marriage?
And what was ahead for me? In one way Sali was right. I would stop being nineteen and she would stop being twenty-eight. What did I want to have when I was thirty, a million years from now? The answer was Sali-but Sali as she was now, not middle-aged, not another Mother.
Sunlight was already blazing in the window. I forced myself from bed, dressed and went downstairs. Dad was sitting in his platform rocker by the window reading the morning Times. Mother bustled out, her hair done up and her make-up on. She was neat as a pin.
"Do you want eggs and sausages or pancakes this morning?" she asked me.
"Whatever you're having. Don't go to any trouble."
"It's up to you, dear. We'll have whatever you want."
Dad said, "Doesn't matter to me."
He had long since given up any preference. He ate what Mother put in front of him.
I said, "Eggs, then. I've got to be out of here by seven-thirty."
Mother hesitated in the hallway. "That's a long way to go to work."
"I know. I may have to look for another job."
"A job closer to home," she said before bustling into the kitchen.
I heard her humming as she cooked.
During breakfast she sipped coffee as Dad wolfed down four eggs, sausages and a steady succession of heavily buttered biscuits.
She asked, "Ready for another biscuit, Paul?"
"No more." I had forced down two with the eggs and sausage and the food was a souring lump in my stomach. I stared unseeing at my plate.
Mother said comfortingly, "You're better off here at home. I don't imagine that girl will miss you."
"Mother-"
"She'll find someone else to take care of her. Her kind always manages."
Why argue? I tried to drink some milk.
Mother offered me the serving platter on which an egg and three sausages remained.
"Finish these up, dear."
"I don't want them. You finish them."
She had had black coffee for breakfast.
She gave up on the leftovers and poured herself more coffee.
"Were you careful with that girl?" she demanded. "She isn't pregnant or anything, is she."
"No," I said.
"She isn't going to make trouble for you? You didn't promise to marry her, did you, Paul?"
I shook my head, feeling I was about to choke. I left the table and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
"Use the new red one, dear," Mother called.
She had put out a new toothbrush for me.
I heard Dad leave by the kitchen door and the station wagon moving out of the driveway.
When I came downstairs Mother met me in the hall. She tried to hand me a ten-dollar bill.
"I don't need any money," I said.
"Take it. You can never tell. Fill your gas tank."
She tucked the bill into my coat pocket.
I went out, slamming the door. She meant well, I knew. She'd be on the phone in a matter of seconds, calling all her women friends, all our relatives, with the good news that her Paul was back.
The traffic was bumper-to-bumper all the way to the beach. I walked into the shop at five after nine. Chuck was in the back room unpacking cartons. I waved as he looked up.
Harley was in the service area. He raised my soldering gun in greeting.
"Here's sleeping beauty now," he said.
Herb rose from his desk as I put on my smock.
"Car trouble?" he asked.
"I moved back to my folks' house last night. It took longer than I thought to get here."
Harley lifted his head from his work. Pearl turned, her mouth slightly open.
Herb said, "That's a long way."
Harley left his work and leaned against the counter. He was grinning.
He asked, "What did you go back to Momma for, tough guy?"
I said to Herb, "I don't think it'll work." I suddenly wanted to be free of Harley at any price-free of anyone who knew I had been living with Sali. "It would be better if I got a job near home. I'm sorry. I'll stay till you find someone else."
Herb scratched his thinning hair. Pearl turned away.
Harley said, "You can't handle women-that's your trouble. You've got to treat 'em like tramps." He glanced with a smile at Pearl's back. "They like to be treated that way. But it takes a lot of man to do it."
"Shut up, will you?"
Herb waved Harley back to the set.
"Go, go. No fighting in here." He said to me, "I don't like to lose you, Paul, but what's the sense of your driving so far? You won't have any trouble finding a job. You have them call me and I'll give you a good reference."
"Thanks."
"You won't even have to stay out the day. Joe Dayton is out of the hospital now after his liver trouble. He was in just last week, looking for a job." Joe Dayton was the man I had replaced. "I'll call him, tell him to come right over."
That came as a shock.
"I'll finish the day," I said.
"No, Joe needs the money. Besides, he and Harley get along good." Herb turned to Pearl. "Make out a check for Paul. Pay him till noon." He looked at me. "Okay?"
"Fine. Thanks."
I was hurt by his willingness to let me go so quickly. I had a queasy scared sensation in my guts.
Five minutes later Pearl handed me a check. She said, "I'm sorry you're leaving." There was a tremulous smile on her thin face. Her dark eyes brimmed with tears.
Her emotion made me uncomfortable, as though I were somehow responsible for her lack of a husband and happiness. Ten minutes later I was in the back of the shop saying goodbye to Chuck.
We shook hands. He said, "That bad scene at my pad last night-"
I shook my head. "That didn't cause my breaking up with Sali. I suppose this had to happen sooner or later."
"Sali's a good chick."
"Yeah." My own emotions threatened to overflow. "Look, will you do me a favor? Keep tabs on her and let me know if she needs anything or gets in trouble?"
"Sure." He smiled sympathetically. "You're really hung on her."
I gave him the phone number at my folks' place.
I racked my brain to remember something I had left behind at the apartment that would give me a good excuse-any excuse-to visit.
The portable TV?
Good enough. But did I want to see her again? What could be accomplished? I loved her, sure. But not as a future wife.
I headed inland.
Back home, the heat was building up. The moderate temperatures of the beach had spoiled me. I parked in the driveway and went indoors. The air conditioning was on.
Mother was on her knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the tiles. She got up when I told her I had quit my job.
"Good. That was too far to travel. You would never have had enough sleep."
I went upstairs to my room. With each step the temperature increased until, I guessed, it was close to ninety. I remembered a small air-conditioning unit in the window. But the unit had been removed, apparently, after I had moved away.
I set about changing the room back to what it had been. I moved out a pink slipper chair, a big vase of artificial flowers, the bric-a-brac on the bookcase shelves, the stupid pictures on the walls.
Mother heard me moving about. She came upstairs to learn what I was up to.
"It's so hot here," she exclaimed. "How can you stand it? Why don't you sleep in the basement for a few days, Paul? We loaned your air conditioner to Aunt Helen but we'll get it back. I forgot all about it"
She looked around at what I had done.
"Don't you like those pictures?"
"I like my own better. Where did you put them?"
"In a closet some place. They were such crazy things."
"Where are my books?"
"Those awful science-fiction things? They're in the basement in boxes. I didn't think you'd want them if you ever came back-they're so childish."
"They're stories of serious extrapolation-"
"All those space ships and monsters." She picked up a picture of a group of cute puppies. "Are you sure you don't want this? It's perfect for a boy's room."
"I'm not a boy any more."
"Well." She put the picture back on the wall. "Isn't it nice?" She turned and smiled. "I really came to see if you have any laundry. You may have some in your suitcases. Remember the clothes hamper in your closet?"
I was humiliated, angry. "Could you show me where you put my prints?"
"In a minute. I'm so glad you came back, Paul. This is where you belong. You must promise me you'll be neat and clean as long as you're living here. You don't have to worry about laundry. I wash twice a week. So there's no excuse for not wearing clean under-things every day."
"I'm not a slob. Stop treating me like a kid."
"But look at you. Your hair is too long. Were you trying to be one of those beatniks?"
"I like it this way."
"You look so shaggy. I want my son to be neat. I want to be proud of you."
"All right, I'll get a crew cut."
"Don't be ridiculous. Get it trimmed, that's all. Why not go to the barber right now while you have time? I'll give you the money."
"Maybe tomorrow. Right now I want to get this room changed."
"Very well. It's so hot up here. I'll get your crazy pictures." She left briskly. From the foot of the stairs she called, "There's some cold roast beef in the refrigerator for sandwiches for lunch."
I sighed and sat on the bed. I would never make contact with Mother. Once, when I was a freshman in high school, she had insisted on getting me down on the sofa so she could squeeze the blackheads in the skin around my nose. I'd had friends around. If she had only known then how I had hated her, how close I had been to killing her.
I slapped the bed and said aloud, "It's a bad scene."
Had I made the right move? My stomach was off. I might never eat again. Something seemed stuck in my throat. I thought of Sali returning to our apartment and finding me gone.
Sali had loved me. I pressed my face to the pillow and wept.
6
I AWOKE the next morning with a thudding headache, remembering that I had no job. I heard my mother talking with someone and thought she was on the phone.
I took three aspirin tablets and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Maybe my hair was too long at that, at least for this middle-class suburb. I had better not look like a beach ass when applying for a local job.
Wearing only my pants, I headed for the kitchen for coffee. Mother was sitting in the breakfast nook with a young and pretty woman. I felt embarrassed and Mother's lips thinned in disapproval.
She managed in a pleasant tone, as I went to the stove and poured a cup of black coffee, "Dear, this is Violet Patterson. She and her husband bought the house next door a month ago."
Violet was short and solid. She had a round friendly face, reddish-brown hair worn dutch-boy style. Her eyes were a twinkling brown.
She dipped her head to acknowledge the introduction. As a seeming afterthought, she tucked in her silky yellow-and-white-striped blouse so that her big spherical breasts became prominent.
I said, "I didn't know we had company."
Mother explained, "He's used to living among the beatniks. Why don't you go upstairs and put on a shirt, dear?"
Violet waved her plump little hand. "His bare chest doesn't bother me. I'm a married woman. I only wish Barry looked as good without a shirt on." She patted the spot beside her. "Sit down."
I sat. As I drank my coffee I noticed a large diamond engagement and wedding ring combination on Violet's third finger, left hand. The rings must have cost over a thousand dollars. I wished I could have afforded to spend that much for Sali-but not on rings.
Violet was asking, "What do you do, Paul."
"TV repair."
Mother said, "He's always been mechanically inclined."
"You must come over to look at our set. The picture keeps bending in from the sides. Barry promises to have the tubes checked but he never gets around to it."
"Sounds like your oscillator or output tubes are weak."
She laughed. "Barry wouldn't know an oscillator tube from his-from a hole in the ground."
I smiled in spite of my splitting head and Dad mood. I liked Violet. I was aware of her eyes on my chest.
Mother said, "You really should get properly dressed, Paul."
I nodded but did not move. It occurred to me that Violet had as much in the breast department as Sali and on a smaller body. I wondered if Violet needed a bra to keep from sagging.
She seemed to know what I was thinking. She put down her cup.
She said, "My coffee's cold. Would you pour me some?"
I brought the silex to the nook. As I filled her cup she reached up and felt my arm.
"My, the muscles on this man," she murmured.
I avoided looking at Mother.
I said, "I used to work out with weights."
"I can believe it."
Mother said, "Paul-"
Violet interrupted her. "Are you doing anything tomorrow night? Barry and I always go bowling Wednesday nights. You're welcome to come along. More fun with three more competition." She grinned. "I beat him all the time."
"Thanks. I'd like it."
I suddenly dreaded being alone.
Violet looked at her watch.
"Ten-fifteen. Got to get cracking on that housework." She slid out of the nook. "Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Cook. I really enjoy these visits." She turned to me and offered her hand. "I'm glad I met you, Paul. Don't forget tomorrow night."
"I won't. I'm glad I met you, too."
Her hand, surprisingly warm, stayed clasped in mine a second too long. As she went out I saw that her calves were full and solid, her ankles slim. She had a narrow waist.
Mother said, "Isn't she nice?"
I nodded, went to my room and finished dressing. The headache was fading.
After breakfast I sat in the living room reading the morning paper. Mother was in the basement, ironing and watching daytime TV on her portable.
I looked at the help wanted ads and saw a couple of TV-repairman jobs open. I found that I lacked the drive to leave the house.
I sat staring at the paper, remembering how Sali would turn on the oven in the morning to drive out the dank beach chill, how we made joking comments back and forth while we listened to the morning news.
I looked out of the window at the sunshine. The neighborhood had not changed.
Mother came up from the basement an hour later and found me still at the window. Once more she reminded me that I needed a haircut.
I put her off with some kind of vague answer and went to the phone. I dialed the number of my best friend in town, whom I had not seen for months. He was five years older than I.
His wife answered the phone.
I said, "Hello, Eileen, is Marty up?"
He rarely got to sleep before two or three in the morning.
"No. Is this Paul? How are you? Long time no see."
"I'm fine."
I pictured her in my mind's eye. Eileen was Marty's second wife. He seemed willing to settle for anything that wore a dress. She was too fat, too sloppy, too neurotic, too lazy to keep house or take care of her kids properly, yet he had eagerly planted his seed in her twice and she had reluctantly given birth to two little boys.
"Hold on. I'll go rattle his cage," she said.
I waited. I could hear her yelling at him.
He picked up the phone, said my name and yawned.
I asked, "How's the selling game? What are you pushing these days?"
"Memberships in a new sports center. I only get fifty dollars per sale. Isn't that lousy? It should be at least-"
I interrupted his recital of problems. "Hey, Marty, I called to see if we could get together today."
"Yeah." His voice brightened. "Boy, have I got things to tell you. The things that have happened to me."
"Are you going to get up now? I'll come right over."
"Okay. 'Bye."
Mother said, "Is that loafer still trying to be a salesman?"
Marty had all kinds of excuses for his failures in life. Nothing was ever Marty's fault. He was too trusting of people and they took advantage of him.
I was glad to get out of the house. Moments before I hadn't wanted to budge.
Marty and his family lived in a small, two-bedroom, ten-year-old house on the edge of the city. His battered old La Salle was parked in an open garage. He sometimes talked about restoring the car to its former classic beauty but he never could afford to begin. He managed to keep it running, though, and considered it a good business gimmick, a conversation piece.
The idea couldn't be too good. He never kept a job long.
Eileen opened the door for me. She wore a wrinkled blue skirt and a half-buttoned pajama top. Her breasts flopped loosely under the flannel. She ran her fingers through stringy hair and asked me to come in. The two little boys played on the bare hardwood floor.
Marty greeted me, wearing a cheap brown suit whose pants would not hold a press. He was five feet eight and carried about one hundred ninety pounds, most of it lard on his rump and waist. His eyes were puffy.
He shook my hand. His grip was moist.
"Man, it's been long. Okay if we leave right away? We can talk in the car. I have an appointment in half an hour."
Eileen said, "Bring home some hamburger." We walked to his car.
He asked, "Still with that luscious redhead? What's her name?"
"Sali." Briefly I felt poor and lost. "We broke up a few days ago."
"You back at your mother's? Tell me what happened. I'm all ears."
He started the old car and backed out.
I told him how we had split up and it came out all Sali's fault.
"You're lucky to get rid of her. Man, if I could only get rid of Eileen that easy. She's started showing her true colors. By the way, I don't have an appointment. That was just an excuse to get out quick."
"Where are we going?"
"How would you like to meet a cute little college girl? I ran into this one a couple of weeks ago. I was selling her father a membership. I took her out on a date but I let slip I was married. That killed it. She's a helluva good looker. She'd probably go for you."
"You don't have to play cupid."
"I don't mind. She's going to waste. Why not meet her? She has only morning classes on Tuesdays. We could drive her home."
I felt past the stage of college girls. What did they know? But I said I'd meet Marty's friend.
"Swell. Say, let me borrow a dollar for gas. It's a long way out to the college and back."
I gave him the dollar. We arrived at the campus by twelve-thirty.
Marty looked at his watch. "I think we're a little late."
He was always late. Somehow he lost track of time in the jungle of his ego. We got out of his car and walked. Near the bus stop, he pointed at a group of students.
"There she is."
He broke into a run, reached a strikingly pretty blonde girl a few seconds before the bus arrived. He talked fast. She looked at me as I drew near. Her face showed nothing but the bus pulled away without her.
Marty introduced us. Her name was Sharon Howe.
Her blue eyes took quick inventory of me. She extended her hand. The hand was cool to touch.
Her hair was done up in a beehive. She wore a lemon-yellow sweater, green skirt, white blouse, yellow anklets and the usual college saddles.
There was an awkward silence. She glanced at Marty, then back at me.
Marty asked, "Is your dad taking advantage of his membership?"
Her voice was not as cool as her fingers. "Oh, yes. He's out bowling and swimming all the time. He's just dying to try the archery setup. When will it be installed?"
"They have the equipment ordered. Probably in a month."
I asked what year she was in.
"Just starting Junior. I'm majoring in sociology."
I said, "I took a semester in college. One of my subjects was sociology."
Marty said, "He quit. That was sure a stupid thing to do."
Sharon asked, "Why did you leave college?" I suddenly was not sure of the answer.
"I wanted to be on my own, I guess. I got fed up."
"Sometimes I feel that way, too. I want to chuck it all and run off somewhere."
We started walking toward Marty's car. Sharon was not as pretty close up as she was from a distance. She wore too much eye shadow. Her neck was too thin. She had an average figure-nothing to shout about. Her breasts extended too far from her chest to be all real. She had a habit of gnawing her lipstick.
She looked at me sideways. She was in the middle. "What are you doing now."
"I'm between jobs."
Marty said, "Paul's a TV repairman. Damn good, too."
Sharon laughed. "I'll have to acquire you as a friend. We've got four TV's in the house and none of them work right."
Marty said, "Sure, Paul, go ahead and fix her sets. You can take the bill out in trade."
Sharon hit at him playfully. "I'm not that kind of girl."
We reached the car. Sharon got in the back seat. I hesitated.
She said, "Sit with me. We can talk." After I climbed in beside her she said, "Home, James."
Marty started the car. "Remember, you two, I'm watching in the rear-view mirror."
Sharon asked me, "Does he think of nothing but making out?"
"Nothing."
Marty said, "My wife cut me off two months ago. What do you expect?"
Sharon giggled. "Serves you right." She asked me, "How old are you?"
I didn't want to tell her.
"How old are you?"
"How old do I look?" She turned on the seat to face me. "Be honest."
In my opinion, college girl or not, she looked about twenty-six or seven. A weariness showed in her eyes when she was neither laughing nor making some kind of face.
But I said, "Nineteen."
"You're sweet. Actually, I'm twenty. Now tell me how old Marty really is. He says he's twenty-two, but I don't believe him for a minute."
I derived a cruel satisfaction from telling another lie. "He's thirty."
Marty laughed, went along with the gag. "Stabbed in the back. Some friend you are."
I said, "All's fair in love and war."
Sharon asked me, "Do you like to dance?"
"Nope. I don't know how."
"You don't?" She was incredulous.
"Not even the twist."
"But you're socially disadvantaged if you don't dance." She frowned. "Do you have a reason?"
I said, "Yes. I'm a woman hater. You'd better help save me from my fate. How about a date?"
She chewed her hp more rapidly than before. "I might have this Saturday open. What did you want to do?"
"Dinner and a show. Nothing imagine." She asked if I had a car. I said I did. That decided her.
"Swell. I'll see you Saturday about six-thirty. Okay?"
Marty pulled up in front of a two-story house that seemed less than a year old. Sharon gathered her books together. She said in parting, "See you, Paul. Thank you, Marty." She went up the walk to her door and went inside.
Marty said, "Man, you made an impression. Bang, you get a date right off."
I had only asked for the date to keep my thoughts off Sali. I had no interest in Sharon. I noticed my fist was clenched. I consciously opened my hand.
"Is that all hers under that sweater?" I asked Marty.
"I don't know. She wouldn't let me find out. I only had one date with her, though. I had a helluva time even Kissing her a couple of times. She acts like a virgin."
"She does a lot of advertising for a virgin."
"Yeah, she puts up a big front." Marty laughed at his joke.
We drove back to Marty's place. I left him there, went to the library for an hour or two. I found a couple of new Dooks on electronics that gave me a feeling of breathing again.
Dad was home before I was that night. My car had to stay out front. It was only right that he should park in the driveway. This was his house, his driveway. The garage was too full of gardening equipment and supplies to accommodate a car. But roving bands of jaydees periodically cruised the streets, breaking windows in parked cars. My poor old Plymouth would be fair game. In many small ways I had been better off at the beach.
At supper Dad said, "Paul, your mother and I would like to know something. How deeply were you involved with that girl you were living with?"
He tried to smile but his eyes darted uncertainly to Mother.
My stomach clenched. Any hunger I had disappeared.
"I wasn't legally involved in any way."
He said, as if reciting a memorized list of questions, "Did she live with other men? Have you had yourself checked for disease?" I could only stare at them.
"We're only thinking of your health," my mother said.
I stood up. My chair fell over behind me.
I said, "You want me to take my pants down so you can check for yourself?"
Mother firmed her lips. "Don't be disgusting. Pick up your chair. You're living with us and we have a right to know these things."
Dad put a big piece of pork chop into his mouth, chewed quickly a few times and said, "If you're really through with this girl-"
"I am."
Mother said, "Eat, dear."
I righted my chair and sat at the table again.
I remembered Sali's smile and the way she cuddled to me on the sofa as we watched TV at night, the way she occasionally leaned over to kiss me on the ear.
Mother said, "I'm sure you felt a certain affection for her, dear. But that's not true love." She reached her hand to mine.
I jerked my hand away, got up and stumbled up to my room.
Fifteen minutes later I heard the kitchen door open and close. I went to my window. Dad was on his way to the greenhouse in a corner of the yard. He always liked to putter there after supper.
I went downstairs. Mother was in the kitchen, doing the dishes. I left by the front door and circled to the back yard.
Dad looked up in surprise when I entered the greenhouse.
I said, "Could I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure, son. Maybe you can help me figure out this thermostat. It keeps the temperature too high in here at night. Your mother is screaming about the light bill."
He had taken off his shirt. The hair on his chest was gray. For some reason the discovery shocked me.
The greenhouse was oppressively hot and humid. The two small rooms with their rough wooden tables and hard-packed dirt floor were crowded with potted plants in various stages of growth.
I took the thermostat from Dad.
"It probably needs a new resistor," I said. "I'll fix it for you tomorrow." I looked around. "You'll get written up in the local paper if you keep this up. How many kinds of flowers do you have?"
"About a hundred." He seemed eager to say more but unable to find the words. He managed at last: "Got some pretty trilliums coming along."
I asked, "Dad, did you ever go through this-like me with Sali?"
Again he seemed eager to speak-and again he had only inadequate words. He knew they were not enough out he tried.
"I never did any of the wild things kids do nowadays. I had to work from when I was sixteen. I've never been anything but a furniture mover, but I've got a nice house, a car, a good woman and a son." He scratched his head. "I'm happy. Too late to do anything about it now, anyway."
"Yeah." I was beginning to sweat in the heat. "But if you'd met a girl who had made a mistake and was trying to oe something better-"
He shook nis head. "I don't understand the kids today. They get in trouble ana expect people to forgive and forget. Can't be done. You'll meet a nice girl when you're a little older. She'll take care ot you in every way, if you know what I mean."
He could offer me no immediate help. He lived in his groove. His groove had become a rut and when he had worn it deep enough it would be his grave.
My mother wanted me to live in a groove, too.
7
VIOLET CALLED for me the following night, wearing black pants and a loose white blouse. I had expected to go to her house about half an hour later for our bowling date.
"I got restless," she explained to my mother and me as we all stood by the kitchen door. "Barry is still shaving."
We left, cutting toward her house in the twilight across adjacent back yards. She stopped just outside her door.
"You look nice," she said. She stood on tiptoes to turn the collar down on my car coat. "Very handsome."
Her breasts pressed lightly against my chest for an instant. Their warmth and softness gave me a transitory sense of happiness.
She settled back to her heels. "Don't do what your mother does-don't call me Violet. It's Vi to my friends."
"Okay, Vi." She was pretty and young-looking in the twilight-not young in that callow college style that Marty's friend Sharon wore-but young like Sali. Young and kind, as I'd have liked to remember my mother, who had never seemed to be young.
She slipped one of my long wooden coat buttons through a loop fastener.
She said, "I suppose we'd better go in. I'm so glad you'll be with us."
She held the door open for me. We went past a utility room, bypassed a kitchen more modern than Mother's, and turned into a wide living room with bright Danish furniture. The cushions and bolsters were covered with striped orange and brown material. Two of the walls were wood-paneled.
Vi called, "Barry?"
"Ummm? Just a minute." The answering voice was high, not quite manly. Barry Patterson came into the living room. He was smooth and cherubic, with a thin covering of straight blonde hair on a pink scalp. He extended a small plump-fingered hand. "Paul? Glad to know you. Much of a bowler?"
His grip was weak. I had an impulse to use all my strength.
"I don't get much chance to practice."
He smiled pleasantly. "All practice does for me is help ingrain my mistakes."
Vi said, "He has a nothing ball with a reverse hook. Wait till you see it."
But she said the words fondly, as though her husband's rotten bowling were a part of his charm.
"She beats me all the time. My poor ego."
I said, "She'll probably beat us both."
Vi ran her hand under Barry's chin. "You missed a spot."
He anxiously touched the spot she had indicated. "Should I shave again?" he asked.
Vi shook her head. "No. It isn't noticeable. Let's go. Get the bags, honey."
I thought Barry was lucky and wondered what he had done to deserve someone like Vi. Not only was she as cute and sweet as though she were a assshe was also respectable.
She led the way out to the car as Barry followed with two plastic bowling bags. She sat in the middle and Barry drove.
I stroked the padded dash. "Nice," I said of his ivory-colored Impala.
Vi said, "Drive carefully, honey. You're the only one with a seat belt."
"Umm. Good way to get rid of a wife, huh, Paul? Crash when you're using a seat belt and she isn't."
Vi pinched his plump thigh. "You're funny." She continued. "I actually think he'd do it if he had the nerve."
Her tone had changed to a wifely, tolerant one. I no longer thought that Barry was so lucky. He said, "I understand you're a TV repairman."
"Yes."
I shifted slightly. Vi's leg pressed mine. I could feel the warmth of her flesh.
"I'm in the insurance game. District agent."
Vi said, whether in pride or sarcasm I could not tell, "He's an important man."
"Seventeen men under me."
I felt sorry for him.
"You probably worked hard to get where you are." He was pleased. "Right."
We pulled into the parking lot beneath the bowling lanes.
Barry carried their bags up the stairs. Vi followed two steps behind with me beside her. She said, "Honey, see if we can get the same lane we had the last time."
I rented shoes and hunted for a ball. When I re turned to the lane Vi was alone. "Where's Barry?" I asked.
"I sent him for hot chocolate." She penciled our names on the score sheet. "Go ahead. I want to watch your muscles ripple."
I was wearing a blue nylon turtleneck shirt. I picked up my ball.
"They'll probably just rip."
I set myself and went into a standard four-step approach. I was lucky, hit the pocket and got a sloppy strike.
I came back grinning. "I'd better quit now."
"Wonderful. You're good."
She touched my arm in congratulation as she marked the strike. She stood up as I leaned over to savor the lovely "X" and we collided. Her full breasts brushed my arm. Her brown eyes twinkled.
"Sorry."
"Any time."
I sat in the scorer's chair as she picked up her marbleized twelve-pound ball. She turned completely serious.
She used a six-step approach and a long arching backswing. The ball went down the alley with speed and power, curving beautifully at the last second. Clean strike. I was, for some reason, proud.
Vi gave a small ecstatic scream and ran to me. She leaned over my arm as I marked her score. Her breast nuzzled my shoulder.
Barry returned and looked at the pad.
"Holy cow, I'm in with professionals," he said ruefully. He put paper cups of hot chocolate in the wells beside the seats, picked up his ball, wiped his left hand on his pants. He delivered left-handed from an awkward three-step approach.
The ball rolled at a leisurely pace, veered, clipped four pins on the left. Barry waited resignedly for his ball to return.
"That's about par for me," he said.
Vi giggled, sipped hot chocolate. "I'd hate to tell you his average."
The first game ended with Vi the winner. She had one fifty-six, I had one fifty and Barry one twenty-four. We all seemed satisfied with the results. Barry, I realized, was no fighter. He enjoyed Vi's excellence and he seemed glad that I was along and apparently enjoying myself. The Pattersons were people I could be comfortable with. I was glad they had moved into the neighborhood and I said so.
A look passed between them which I did not understand. As though they shared some knowledge too sad to be confided. I was sorry I had noticed.
We bowled four games. I managed to win the last one.
As we left the lanes Barry asked me, "What am I doing wrong?"
"I don't think you follow through enough. And you never deliver the ball the same way twice. You've got to develop consistency."
We got into the car.
He sighed. "I'm just not athletic."
Vi said in the voice I liked, "The main thing is, you keep trying. You enjoy the game. You'll get there." An instant later she added less pleasantly, "It may take the rest of your life but you'll get there, Barry."
An embarrassed silence followed. Barry gripped the steering wheel tightly with his pudgy hands. Vi adjusted her jacket and nervously ran the zipper up and down. She looked at her watch.
"It's early. Paul, when we get home, come in and have a dish of ice cream with me." She touched my thigh with her fingertips. "I can't resist peach ripple and I hope you can't either. We have a quart in the freezer."
I protested that I'd be barging in, that they'd want to be alone-but Barry added his invitation to Vi's.
I said I'd be glad to join them.
Their living room was an easy place to linger in. Vi served her ice cream with small home-made cookies. Long after the dishes were empty, we sat and talked. I filled them in on local gossip a few years old-they had come from another community only a month before-and their interest made me feel important.
Suddenly and restlessly, Barry stood up. "I believe I'll go get some fresh air," he said. "I'll be back in a while. Don't rush off, Paul. Vi and I don't have enough friends. I hope you'll come bowling with us again."
He left. I heard the Impala taking off. I looked at Vi in puzzlement.
She stared at her empty ice-cream dish.
"He won't be back tonight," she said, "judging by past performance."
I said, "I don't understand."
The brown eyes had an opaque quality in the lamplight. "Barry and I try not to De drags on each other. He sometimes goes out like that and comes nome toward morning for a clean shirt. I think he hunts up a woman-any woman-but I don't ask and he doesn't always tell me."
I was nineteen. I had lived with a woman for six months and I had known that startling experience with a pink-haired biddy and her busted TV. In the company of other guys I had talked sex till the subject was used up, deflated, a thing of no mystery.
But Vi Patterson's words referred to people I had just gone bowling with. Real people, as distinguished from beach people or strangers. Neighbors. Householders like Mother and Dad.
Vi said, "Why, Paul, you're blushing. I'm sorry if
I shocked you. But life is sometimes shocking-or hadn't you noticed?"
I blurted, "I don't dig it. A nice person like you--a guy has you for a wife-what's wrong with him? Is he crazy?"
She shifted to a corner of the brilliantly colored Danish couch, plucked at an orange cushion. I noticed the pulse throbbing in her throat. She was looking at a point on the floor about eight inches under the rug, her eyes still faraway.
"He's not crazy and neither am I-unless it's crazy to be blue. We can't have children. It gets us down."
I was upset, as though the Pattersons' troubles were my own. They had given me a pleasant evening when I'd felt as low as I'd ever been in my life-I supposed I'd been thinking of them as some kind of model for living. And here they were, in a bind like everyone else, maybe worse.
"What's that got to do with it?" I protested. I heard my voice break and crackle with aimless outrage. "What's the big deal about children? How can you miss them if you never had them?"
She laughed gently. "Exactly what we said to each other nearly four years ago. How can you miss what you've never had? Now you, Paul, you're a big beautiful boy, full of juice, full of life. You're all ready to take on a woman for keeps. Suppose you never find her? Never have a girl to call your own forever? You'll miss her, all right. Take a little kid, with a body that's hungry to run and jump and play on green grass. Suppose the kid grows up in a stuffy parlor, never gets to ride a bike or do belly-flops in a pool. You know he'll grow up wrong. Don't kid yourself-if we don't get what we need from life, we suffer for it. As Barry and I are suffering."
"If it's so important, why don't you adopt children?"
"We aren't that nice, Paul. We're not the kind who'd feel for other people's children. We wanted our own. The odd thing is, we found out, both of us are sterile. We know. We checked enough with doctors. And we just happened to marry each other, before either of us had the least idea. Isn't it lucky that we paired off, that neither of us ruined someone else's life?"
She asked the last question mockingly, with the same hostile note I had heard once or twice in her tone toward Barry. She kept plucking the cushion.
"What got us down, Paul, was not the initial shock-I'm not sure there was one. We were younger four years ago. We said to each other, as you said just now, that we could always adopt kids. We found out as we went along how poor we were. Little by little, we began to feel like orphans ourselves. Or stepchildren-ones mother nature had kicked out of the nest as unfit. We began to feel foolish when we made love. That's a fatal way to feel-in marriage. We've tried to be kind to each other. But the sense goes out of sex after a while when it has no purpose but pleasure--and a man gets restless. As Barry did tonight"
I said hoarsely, "You don't blame him? You're not angry?"
Her eyes came back from nowhere and focused on my face. "Of course I'm angry. But not at Barry. I'm angry, period. Look, kid, this is our problem. Why don't you go home? Your mama wants you. Mustn't keep mama waiting-mustn't make mama worry. And you're a real mama's boy at that, aren't you, Paul Cook? Maybe you got away for a while but you'll never escape for good. You're mama's good little snot-nosed kid-"
I knew she was working herself into hysteria, that she could not be blamed for what she was saying. But she was touching raw spots-and maybe I was not to be blamed either.
I came toward her, not knowing how I meant to shut her up-strike her, gag her mouth with my palm, shake her shoulders.
I grabbed her, yanked her to her feet. The spoon rattled in its empty dish on the coffee table beside us.
I said, "Stop it, you nutty female."
She tossed her head back, giggling without mirth. I put my hand on her chin, forced her to face me.
Suddenly she gasped, "Paul. Paul, baby-" and clung to me fiercely.
I wasn't her baby. I wasn't anyone's baby. My mouth closed on hers. All the longing and humiliation and loneliness I ever had known, all the woman-wanting and hopelessness and dreaming, were in that kiss.
Her responding kiss was thirsty, wild. Her hands ran under my shirt, roughly caressing. My fingers closed in her hair.
I held her face away from mine long enough to tell her, "Get this, Vi. I'm big now. I'm a man. Don't call me baby again."
She grimaced, tugging in pain against my grip. Her lips formed the barely audible word.
Baby....
People made love and used the word every day, playfully, casually, thoughtlessly-they used the word with strangers at times. But between Vi and myself the word had a sudden terrible meaning, somehow concretizing the hopeless neediness in each of us.
Maybe I never had outgrown the boy I used to be, who had had a top sergeant in hair rollers where other kids had indulgent, tender, considerate mothers. Maybe Vi would never get over the blow of her barrenness.
Maybe we didn't belong in one another's arms.
And maybe that was exactly where we belonged. I was taking her as dry earth sponges water, not out of love as I knew it, but for a kind of survival. And maybe she needed me in the same way.
I pushed her to the couch, straddled her with my knees. The brown eyes looked at me in pain and wonder. I remembered as though I had read about it in a book how gay and gentle love had been with Sali.
When I had been Sali's lover my mother's dark hold on me had been weakened and hidden by distance. Tonight she was right next door. I pulled Vi's shirt open in a tempered rage and the rage was not for Vi.
She wore a blue bra with a tiny pink rosette at the V of the cleavage. My fist closed on the silly rosette. I tore at the fabric.
She whimpered, "Paul, you're rough-"
Her breasts were pale and big, with great dark nipples. Sali's breasts were fair, the tint of strawberries....
I had to forget Sali.
And the ruthless woman next door who wanted to own my soul. I had to plunge into the salt-sterile pool of deep water that was Vi Patterson's femaleness, a mystery with no meaning, a riddle whose answer was another riddle.
I opened her black pants at the waist. She helped me eagerly, hastily, as though we were busy at some all-important task instead of stolen play. I felt her naked thighs, with their sturdy quivering muscle. I saw her eyes.
She would have risen to meet me but my body thrust her down into the couch cushions. Above all I needed to dominate and take possession.
I stabbed into her with my maleness, a reckless raging boy who wanted to be a man. She permitted me like quicksand. Within her I found a world of peril and attack. A frenzied nervous strength that no outward sign betrayed was hers to summon for counterattack. I heard myself sob in surprise. I fell against her breasts, stabbing back, fighting, locked in lusting combat of a sort I had never dreamed could exist between man and woman.
I fought through the world of Vi, knowing her sometimes as an ally, sometimes as opponent. She was mountain fever, desert thirst, the tidal waves of a secret sea. Seconds were years, minutes were decades.
The big breasts flattened beneath me, surged again with my breathing. The flesh of my belly rubbed at hers. Our tongues touched. I was weak with sensation, yet strength was evoked from me again and again, draining me till I had to be less than nothing.
At one point we paused, still locked together on the modern couch in the lamplight, both of us spent yet unfulfilled. I half-imagined that my life, from start to finish, had been spent on this couch with this woman-that all the rest was a dream.
She sighed, stirred. The quiet ended. Those nerve-ends within her hammered and clutched and grabbed. I thought I heard shouts and trumpets. The general and the army both, I stormed the last citadel, seized the heights, in a dizzy triumphant climax close to the sun.
The outer world returned little by little, as gradually as morning overtaking the night. The distant suns receded.
Vi Patterson and I were two people in rumpled clothes, lying side by side in a tight squeeze on a couch. The brown eyes blinked. I waited for her to speak, to explain what had happened and why.
She said, "My goodness. I guess we got carried away. Paul, please go home."
She pushed me aside and stood, fussing with her clothes, covering her unrepairable bra with her neat white shirt. I could hardly believe she was the same woman of ten minutes before.
She walked to the door with me and said in parting, "Don't be bashful. Come over any time."
"I'll be busy looking for a job," I reminded her.
"Not that busy. Good night, Paul. Thanks for everything."
I walked across both driveways and yards and entered my parents' house.
Mother called from the front room, "Paul?" I tried to reach the stairway but she blocked me. "Did you have a good time?" she pried. "Yes."
"The Pattersons are nice, aren't they? Especially Violet."
"Yes."
"You should try to find a nice girl like her to be interested in."
To shut her up, to satisfy her, I said, "I've got a date with a college girl I met yesterday. Marty introduced me."
"What's she like?"
"She's nice."
"What's her name?"
I ended by telling my mother Sharon's name, address, what her parents' house looked like-everything I knew.
Mother patted my arm and stood aside to let me go upstairs. "You see how easy it is to find decent, respectable girls?"
The words were a dig at Sali that I could not ignore.
"Mother, Sali is as decent and respectable as you or Vi."
Mother laughed unpleasantly. "That girl."
"Mother, don't say it!"
"-is a common tart. You still feel you must defend her and I understand. You were weak and susceptible. She wanted someone inexperienced and foolish to take care of her and buy her things and you were there for her to use."
"It wasn't like that. You don't know what she's like at all. You've prejudged everything."
"Dear, I only had to take one look at her-"
I stamped up the stairs, undressed and went to bed.
I had met Sali at Harley's place more than six months before. Harley never cared where he lived, just so the place was cheap and had a bathroom. He didn't care about his women either, just so they, too, were cheap and would take his abuse.
A few weeks after I had come to work for Herb, Harley had invited me to his place for a beer after work. He had been raving about his girl and he wanted to show her off.
After one look at Sali, I had decided, as my mother would later, that she was a down-and-out tramp, fat, unkempt, content to wear soiled jeans and a man's cast-off work shirt. Her long red hair had kept falling over her eyes so that she had constantly had to brush it back with impatient swipes of her hand.
Harley had seemed proud of her degradation. He had flopped on the unmade bed and slopped beer down his throat. Sali and I had sat on rickety wooden chairs at a scarred enamel-top table. A clock-radio had blared.
Harley had commanded, "Lie on the bed with me."
Sali had glanced at me and wearily gone to him.
She had said, "Don't get ideas."
He had drawn her close and began casually to fondle her breasts. She had pulled away.
"Not while someone's here," she had protested in anger.
Even though fat and sloppy, she had had a pretty face. Harley had picked her up on the beach. He had laid her any time he had wanted. To a horny young kid like myself, self-conscious and bashful, she had been a revelation.
I had wanted her, or someone like her. The wanting must have been clear to see.
Harley had advised, "Go find one of your own, Cook. All you got to do is ask."
I had admitted, "I haven't the guts."
Sali had asked, "Where do you live?"
I had told her and Harley had scowled.
"You thinking of jumping over to him?"
She had grimaced with pain. "No. Don't worry."
"You're staying with me until I'm tired of you. And I like you, Sali. You're great in the sheets."
She had pulled her arm free and rubbed it in sullen silence.
Late one night, two weeks later, she had come to my door, eyes red from crying, black and blue marks on her arms. She had begged to be taken in.
After taking a long hot bath, she had crawled into bed with me, cuddled close and wept. I did not touch her sexually that night. The next morning she had initiated sex between us and as the blankets had worked down and exposed her body I had discovered other black and blue marks. Harley was the sadistic kind.
Remembering Sali, remembering the honey sweetness of our love, I sat upright in bed. I heard the faint sound of running water. Mother was washing her face and putting on the cold cream and hairnet she always wore for the night.
I turned to lie on my back. I whispered Sali's name. The more I learned about other people, the more glorious our simple love affair seemed in retrospect. In a world crowded with evil, somehow my Sali was wholesome and good. But we were finished. I kept thinking of her nakedness in bed with me, of her cold hands and hot body, of her mouth and breasts and loins.
Vi had drained me physically-but only for a while. I had no reason to think of her now or want her. I wanted Sali until I was sick with the wanting.
8
I AWOKE unhappy the next morning. Without Sali one morning was like another. Nobody took her place.
I knew one thing-I had to get a job. My date with Sharon would clean me out.
I went to the bathroom and started to shave.
Mother called, "Why don't you use Dad's electric razor, dear? If you like it I'll get you one for your birthday."
I began spreading shaving cream over my face. I realized that I dreaded looking for work. I knew I should visit two places that had advertised for TV repairmen and probably the state employment office as well. I had walked out on Sali basically because she once had been a ass-I could not become a ass on my own without wanting to shoot myself.
I found I was dragging. The hour was noon when I reached the first TV and radio repair shop on my list.
A youngish and husky man stood behind the counter. He greeted me with slightly hostile blue eyes. "You had any experience?" he challenged. I told him where I had worked. "You quit or get fired?"
"I quit. I decided to move back here. I was raised in this town."
"I can check that, you know."
"Go ahead," I said too belligerently.
His stare gave me the creeps. The truth was I had no drive. All I wanted to do was feel sorry for myself.
He hesitated before swinging open his counter gate.
"Come on back here. Tell me what's wrong with this set."
He pointed to a chassis on a workbench.
I plugged in the wire and got a dead picture. No raster, no audio. I tapped the power tube, removed it, asked for a new one. With the new tube I got a picture with four-sided shrinking and a slight tilt.
I said, "It's probably weak seleniums."
"Okay. Give me your name and phone number. I'll call you if I need you."
"What does that mean? I either get the job or I don't."
"Listen, smart aleck, I've had six guys in here this morning before you and they were all good men. You spotted the trouble faster than the others but you've got a lousy personality and you look like hell. I don't want a drunk."
"I don't drink," I said in outrage.
Without leaving my name and number, I left the shop and drove away.
I never reached the employment office. I drove aimlessly through the downtown section, thinking I was on my way somewhere. Twice I saw red-headed girls who reminded me of Sali.
Seized by perverse impulse I parked and went into a cocktail lounge for a drink I couldn't afford.
The place was long, dim, furnished in dark leather and dark wood. I noticed a surprising number of women in the booths. A few men sat at the bar.
I took a booth. A waitress showed up promptly. She wore a short black skirt and patterned stockings that accented her shapely legs.
"Yes, sir?"
My usual drink, if I drank at all, was beer out of a can. I thought hastily of a more suitable choice in a cocktail lounge.
"Tom Collins."
The waitress smiled.
"I'll have to see your I.D. I'm sorry-we can't take a chance."
The women in the next booth heard her. They turned and looked at me. I brought out my wallet and showed my driver's license, feeling foolish. She examined it, handed it back.
"I'm sorry," she said for the second time. "You're under age. I can't serve you an alcoholic beverage. Root beer, coffee, milk, yes. But no alcohol."
The women in the next booth had been tippling quietly, maybe for hours. Handsomely dressed, in their early thirties, they were what Chuck's crowd at the beach would have called squares. Now one of them exploded in phony indignation.
"What an outrage. The boy is a citizen, isn't he? Give that citizen his drink, miss. If he's old enough to fight, he's old enough to drink. Old enough for other things, too, I'll bet."
The waitress fled. I rose from the table. I met the waitress again on my way out. She was hurrying toward me with the proprietress.
I told them, "I'm leaving. Trouble makes me tired."
I got into my car and started driving toward the beach, fifty miles away. I had a frightened sense of defeat. I knew that no one goes back-yet I was going back because the way ahead was blocked.
I parked and walked past the familiar building where I had lived for months. Finally I went in and up the stairs to stand with pounding heart, breathless, dry-mouthed, unable to knock on the door. What could I say to Sali? Nothing had changed.
I knocked finally. No one answered.
The building manager came down the stairway from the roof. He carried a bucket of asphalt cement When he saw me he stopped at the head of the stairs.
He said, "She ain't in. What are you going to do, move back?"
I shook my head.
"Why'd you leave?"
He was in his seventies and had an old man's mannerless curiosity.
I evaded his question. "How has she been, do you know?"
"Fine, as far as I know. She's made no ruckus and she paid the rent on time. Why? You jealous?"
Not answering him, I rushed out of the building to my car. I had found nothing here. A door had closed behind me-no new door had opened.
I called Sharon Howe from a drugstore telephone booth.
A woman answered the phone. She had a nice, homey voice.
"Is Sharon there?" I asked. "Who is this?"
"I'm Paul Cook, a friend of hers." I heard the woman calling Sharon to the phone. Her voice was pleasanter than Sharon's. "Hi, Paul," said my date for next Saturday night. "Hi. I called to say hello. Are we still on for the weekend?"
"Why, sure we are. Pick me up at six-thirty, okay?"
I looked out of the booth and through the plate-glass drugstore window. For an instant I thought I saw Sali walk past-but the girl on the sidewalk was only some female in a sweat shirt and had the wrong color hair.
"Paul?"
"Yes?"
The receiver was suddenly slippery in my grip.
"I thought you'd hung up. Which show are you taking me to? There's one at the local Fox I'd like."
I said, "Okay, sounds fine."
Sali would have wanted to see an art film if we had planned on a movie. I was no more at home with the squares than I was with the beats. I was going through motions of belonging, yet I was nowhere.
Sharon said, "See you Saturday, then. 'Bye."
" 'Bye."
I heard the line click dead. I hung up. Five seconds later the phone rang and the operator asked for an additional ten cents.
A moment later I was back in my car. Driving a car is like getting a fix, in a way. Driving can give you the impression that you're on your way, though you're merely making circles. I turned up past Herb's shop. I noticed Harley's car was not in the parking area. I turned in, hoping to talk to Chuck for a minute.
I looked in at the back door. Homely as ever, he was spraying an aluminum antenna for some reason best known to Herb. Moth-eaten, beard and all, he was my friend. I said his name.
He looked around, saw me and grinned.
"Hey, Paul. How've you been?"
"Okay." I nodded at the antenna. "Herb's still screwing the customers, I see."
"Like crazy." Chuck wiped his hands. "I don't care what squares do to squares if it pays my wages."
I took a step into the back room.
"Seen Sali?"
He shook his head.
"Heard anything about her?"
"Harley brags that he'll get her back. But he hasn't seen her either."
A worry bloomed in my mind. "Where's Harley now?"
"Didn't come in today. Probably hung over." Herb must have heard us talking. He came from the front of the shop and greeted me.
"Drop in to say hello? Can't keep away from us."
"I guess."
"Found another job yet."
"I haven't looked hard yet."
"Well, drop in again some time." That was a hint to let Chuck get back to work. "Sure. See you, Chuck." I waved and left.
* * *
That evening, watching TV with Mother and Dad, I was a captive audience for cornball comedies and night soap opera-their choice of programs. I was afraid to be alone upstairs in my room. The presence of other people, the TV, were a means of hiding from myself.
During a splash of commercials Mother said, "Paul, why don't you go back to college? Take accounting or something nice like that. Something dignified."
Dad said, "Good money in accounting."
I said, "I like electronics."
Mother kept sewing a seam that had ripped in a pair of Dad's work pants.
"You won't want to be a TV repairman all your life. We talked it over, dear, and we'll pay your tuition and give you money for your car and spending money for dates and clothes and things. We want you to amount to something. We want to be proud of you."
I tried to be grateful. But I resented the implication that I was a child who must be directed and prodded.
I said, "I don't want to be a junior executive with an attache case, perfectly trimmed hair all the time-I don't want to be a part of the rat race."
Mother asked, "What are you talking about?"
I had parroted the beatnik line for lack of any true feelings of my own. I knew only that I had tasted freedom at the beach and I wanted it. Sali had tried to take away my freedom and I had left her although I loved her.
No one else would take it away, either.
I said, "I appreciate the offer."
Dad said, "Wish I'd had folks that could have put me through college."
Mother said, "Sleep on it, Paul. You'll see we're right."
But I already knew they were right. The person who was wrong, who needed straightening out, was myself.
* * *
My mother left the house the next day at nine. Once a week she liked to take her sister, Mildred, shopping or go visiting in Mildred's old Studebaker. I should have been out of the house, too, job-hunting-but I lingered at the kitchen radio after breakfast, kidding myself that I was listening to a newscast.
I barely heard the light tap that preceded the opening of the back door.
Vi Patterson came in, wearing emerald green slippers, tight green capri pants, a tan button-front sweater of some thin fuzzy material.
Her hair was damp at the nape of her neck as though she had just showered. She wore no make-up.
We stared at each other.
She said, "I thought I'd find your mother, have a cup of coffee with her."
She looked down at herself, pulled at her sweater.
"I ought to leave," she said. "We shouldn't be together. What happened the other night-let's forget it. We were out of line."
But she made no move toward the door.
"Please don't go," I said.
"Why are you home? Why aren't you trying to accomplish something-like other men? Could it be. that you're still a boy?"
"It could be," I admitted. I said more, using wild ugly words, half of them picked up from the beats, half of them products of my own bewildered resentment.
She cut me short by slipping into the breakfast nook and demanding, "Pour me a cup of coffee. I've decided to have some, after all."
Glad to be silenced, I poured for both of us and settled into the nook opposite her.
She spooned sugar and cream, her eyes fixed on my face.
"Tell me about that girl you were living with, the one your mother says is a tramp."
"She isn't as bad as Mother's been telling you. She's good." A lump formed in my throat.
Vi nodded. "But not good enough to marry. Was she pretty?"
"Yes." I reached for my cup and my hand shook.
Vi started talking earnestly about being true to one's own self, about conflicting values, about anything and everything-the main thing was, she was taking me seriously.
She was being a damned brown-eyed angel and I was grateful. She was giving me a thread to hold on to.
"Right now you don't know what you want," she said. "But some day you'll know. Meanwhile, try not to louse yourself up. Know what I think? I think what you really want is the rat race-but your own version of it. When you're just a little older-" she smiled, "you'll find that squares have their own kind of freedom. And I think it's a kind you'll like."
I told her I had a Saturday night date with a college girl.
She nodded approval. I would have gone on talking but she stood up and started for the kitchen door.
"This is a weekday," she said simply. "You're a man. You ought to be either working or looking for work."
I followed her toward the door.
She put her arms around my neck and kissed me in what I suppose was meant as a goodbye. Her breasts nudged my chest
We were lost. In my mother's kitchen, in the bright morning sunlight, we clutched and struggled for balance and toppled over.
Her arms still clung around my neck. She kissed me again. Her lips were warm and soft, yielding, moving, seeking.
The kiss broke and she whispered desperately, "Paul, don't let me be weak-"
Yet her body throbbed longingly against me.
I remembered her lovemaking of the other night and how a world had opened for me within her soul and body. Suddenly no other world seemed to make sense. I had to move into her or be lost, damned, cast out into screaming space.
I said, "Just once more, Vi-you aren't weak, I swear it. You're strong-"
She moaned and turned her face aside as I tried to kiss her again. The kitchen floor was hard beneath us and I welcomed its hardness.
Her face was turned away but her body was yearning like a flower to the sun. I opened her capris, ran my palm over the sultry silky skin below her navel. I felt the surge and leap of her loins.
As we grappled and postured frantically, her face still averted, her hands moved closer and closer to the part of me that barely needed arousing.
When she touched me, the outside world was dead.
We tormented one another, fondling and probing until our longing was unbearable. Unable to bear the delay, I was about to take her, when she held me off.
"Suppose someone should come?"
The distraction was enough to put me off for another instant-and the instant was a miniature eternity of mingled torture and delight.
At last-at last . ...
I was over her and in her, sobbing in joy and relief, filled with fear and yet enjoying fear. Her breasts were softer than the floor, than the clouds, than the old lost dreams. I reveled in her and she in me.
This was not love as much as an answer to love. This was certainty.
We parted briefly. Her eyes were glazed, drugged. She made a mewling sound about me on hands and knees, kissing and tonguing me everywhere-until we joined again.
The sun moved across the kitchen floor until the room was shadowed.
Vi stood up shakily and adjusted her clothing.
She asked me in a frightened voice, "What's happening to us? I'm not in love with you, Paul. You understand that, don't you? But I love your beautiful young body, your muscles-I guess I'm a wicked woman. I don't want to be wicked."
"You're being good to me," I said. "Whatever that's worth."
"Just make sure you keep that date with your college girl. Paul, we have to cut this out. If we don't stop now we'll ruin both our lives-and break your mother's heart."
I swore angrily.
What did my mother's heart have to do with the matter?
9
SATURDAY AFTERNOON I bathed, shaved and put on my one good suit. I had cold-bloodedly bought it two years previously in a color suitable for funerals.
The only important events in our family were-likely to be relatives' deaths.
Eighty-five dollars was a lot of money for a dark suit that I hadn't worn once. Now I was glad I owned it. I showed up at Sharon's house Saturday at six-fifteen, wearing a white shirt and tie, with my shoes polished and a box in my hands that held a corsage for my date.
A middle-aged blonde woman answered the door. She had a matronly figure, a thin neck.
"You must be Paul. Come in," she said.
Her voice entranced me. I followed her into a beautifully furnished living room. Her high heels clicked on the hardwood flooring.
A thin bald man with gold-rimmed glasses put his paper down to greet me. He rose and shook hands.
"Cook." He gave me a good looking-over. "Good thing you showed up. The girl's been worried sick you'd stand her up."
Sharon's mother said, "David, you know that isn't so."
But she was not angry at him. She was not an angry sort of woman.
David Howe placed his glasses into a leather case which he breast-pocketed carefully. He waved me to a seat. We faced each other.
He said, "Sharon tells me you're in the television business."
"Television repair."
"I'm in dry-cleaning myself. Got three shops. Have to put in these new do-it-yourself units and a laundromat or get run out of business. You have any idea what expansion costs?"
Mrs. Howe said, "Sharon won't be long. I'll go tell her you're here."
She went upstairs.
David Howe rattled his paper. "Twenty thousand per shop. But I've got no complaint. I do all right. Take this house. I bought it three years ago, cold cash. The real estate agent nearly choked when I wrote out the check. That gives a man a good feeling, let me tell you, having money in the bank, being solvent."
"I imagine it does, sir."
I found that I envied his position in life, his good-tempered wife and attractive daughter, his house.
"But I worked hard for it. Worked and saved like a damn scrooge. I deserve all I get, every cent. That's more than these damn politicians deserve, the way they spend our tax money."
I nodded and agreed. At that moment I wanted to be like him. Chuck and his friends would have called him the ultimate square, but he had something I could measure and understand.
Sharon came downstairs with her mother. She wore a pearl gray brocade shift with a wide belt and matching high-heeled shoes. She carried a black silk coat.
I stood up and awkwardly handed her my corsage. She was lovely, almost too pretty to be real. I felt ashamed of having only an old fifty-seven Plymouth for her to ride in.
She seemed delighted with the cheap corsage, thanked me warmly.
Mrs. Howe said, "How thoughtful."
She helped Sharon pin the flowers on her dress.
David Howe told me, "Most of Sharon's boys show up in jeans and T-shirts. Lord knows where they go till all hours."
I said, "We're going to dinner and a movie."
"Good. You're all right, Paul. Something of the gentleman about you."
I felt a foot taller.
Sharon said, "Let's go, Paul. This is getting silly." Her father had embarrassed her-but I liked him.
Mrs. Howe went to the door with us.
"Have a good time, you two."
As we pulled away from the curb Sharon sighed.
"Did Daddy bend your ear about business?"
"A little. It was interesting."
I stole sideways glances at her bustline. She seemed to have as much pushing out as before. Maybe it was all real. I hoped so.
She asked, "Where are we eating?"
She clicked her small purse open and shut, open and shut.
"The Lamp. I've heard it has good food."
"It does. Harvey Crane took me there once. He's the track star, you know. He's very good-looking."
I lost about two inches of the added height her father had given me. I tried to hold onto the glow, though.
I said, "You must have a lot of dates."
"Oh, yes, I'm pretty popular. But your friend Marty sure had his nerve lying to me. A married man. I'm glad I wasted only one date on him."
I said nothing to that. When we arrived at The Lamp she chose a center table instead of the booth I would have preferred. But if she wanted to show off my corsage, I didn't mind.
We ordered steaks.
She added to the waiter: "I'll have a gibson." No one challenged her age. She looked older than the twenty years she claimed. I said, "I'll have one, too."
I wasn't challenged either. I suppose I looked older in my suit. The trouble was the added cost-I hadn't anticipated spending for drinks. I had only sixteen bucks on me. If she wanted more than one drink I was dead.
While we waited for our cocktails she said, "A gib-son is more in. Nobody drinks martinis any more."
"Does the waiter know that?"
"Of course. I'll bet we went up ten points in his estimation."
"What's the difference between a gibson and a martini?"
Sharon arched her eyebrows. "Don't you know? A martini has an olive in it and a gibson has an onion. Where have you been?"
I laughed and her face stiffened.
"I don't like to be laughed at," she said.
"I'm sorry. But I thought you were joking. The truth is, I don't drink much, or get around much either."
"You're the kind of boy my father-likes for me." She pouted at the white tablecloth. "I don't seem to attract many-" She broke off quickly. "How old were you before you had a car of your own?
"Eighteen."
"Daddy won't give me one till next year. A lot of other girls at my age have cars."
"He probably has his reasons," I, said sympathetically.
The waiter brought our drinks. Sharon sipped delicately.
"They make good drinks here," she said importantly.
"I'll take your word for it."
The gibson tasted to me like some kind of medicine. She sipped again and asked, "Have you found a job yet?"
"I haven't really looked. I'm taking a short vacation."
"How much do you make as a TV man?"
"Oh, a good repairman can make ten dollars an hour." I was blowing and I knew it. I added: "I average about five hundred a month."
"That's not bad. You could get married on that."
My throat tightened. What was Sali doing? Was she alone in that apartment?
I said, "I'm not interested in getting married just yet."
A young couple entered the restaurant.
The girl, a honey-blonde with a tremendous figure, waved her fingers and called, "Hi, Sharon."
The young man smiled and nodded.
Sharon smiled back in greeting.
She said to me, "There it goes, a dollar a pound. Could you afford it?"
"You mean she's a prostitute?"
"She might as well be. She's been had by half the boys in school-but only after they take her out and spend all kinds of money on her."
I looked at the girl again. She was lithe and beautiful. She wore a shimmering golden dress with casual grace.
"Now you wish you were with her instead of me," Sharon accused me. "Nope. I like you."
"I don't even try to compete with her. No decent girl does." Sharon's gaze kept returning to the blonde. "I hope you don't expect to get fresh with me tonight."
. "Don't worry. I don't touch girls unless they want me to."
"Good." She smiled. "I wish all my boys were like you."
We talked about Sharon further during our meal
She was a liberal but had drawn the line at dating colored boys.
Daddy would hit the ceiling.
She liked ice cream with a passion but she had to limit her diet to low-calorie foods except on dates.
I knew my mother would like her if I brought her home and said, We're engaged....
Sharon was middle-class all the way.
The waiter brought the check with our desserts. The total, including the two drinks, came to twelve-fifty. I had to leave a buck tip. I faced having to pay for the show with a couple of dollar bills and a handful of change. With luck I'd have thirty or forty cents left over for candy if she wanted it.
After that, brokesville.
At the show she limited herself to one package of cream-filled chocolates. We left the theater at five minutes of midnight.
As we walked to my car she asked, "Why don't you go back to college? They have a good science program here. You could get to be an engineer or something. It sounds nicer than being a repairman."
I didn't want to argue with her. I let her think she had influenced me. I wanted her to like me and I wanted desperately to like her, too. I needed an anchor. I thought her folks were swell.
I started the motor and said, "Home?"
She sighed. "I suppose so. Isn't it a beautiful night? We could park somewhere for a few minutes, if you like. I wouldn't mind-if you'll turn on the heater."
I headed toward the desert. Within minutes the car was cozy and warm. Sharon opened her coat and moved closer.
She asked, "Did you like living alone?"
"I don't mind staying with my folks for a while."
"Were you alone when you lived at the beach?"
"No, I was living with a girl. Marty told you about me, didn't he?"
"He told me. Did you love her?"
"I've got to get over her," I said.
"Was she prettier than I am?"
"No," I lied. "But she was loving and honest"
Sharon leaned forward to let her coat slip from her shoulders.
"I suppose she let you do anything you wanted with her body."
My throat had tightened again. I was half-sick with remembering. "I never wanted to do anything but please her," I said. "She felt the same about me."
"I guess my kind of girl seems pretty tame in contrast. Am I too good, Paul? Am I a bore-me and my middle-class folks?"
"Of course not," I said politely.
"My kind of girl has feeling, too, you know. Although I control myself. Will you be staying in town for a while?"
I expected to, I said.
Sharon touched my arm.
"Stop somewhere."
I turned into a side road and parked a hundred yards from the unlit intersection. I left the motor running. The automobile fan hummed in the silence. My dashboard lights were dim.
Sharon edged closer.
She asked with a touch of peevishness, "You're thinking about her, aren't you?"
I turned. "No. I was thinking about finding a job."
"I won't mind if you kiss me-if you're worried, that is, that I might slap your face."
I took her into my arms. Her lips were cool, unresponsive. Her perfume filled my lungs. When I drew away she opened her eyes and smiled.
"You're nice," she said. "I hate rough men."
"Saint Paul, that's me."
She frowned. "Don't make fun of religion. I'm very religious. Do you go to church often."
"No."
"You should." She rested her head on my shoulder. "I shouldn't have said that. I hate religious arguments."
She offered her lips again.
Our kiss was longer this time. Her mouth warmed a little. I didn't try to touch her body. I could imagine marrying Sharon-or someone like her. She was a nice clean girl to kiss. But sex was something I'd rather have had with Vi.
Sharon asked, "Do you really like me?"
I assured her that I did.
"You're so quiet. I don't know what you're thinking. You don't act like my other dates. They're all hands when they park with me." She arched her back and pushed her breast points to greater prominence. "But I don't let them do anything."
"You shouldn't."
She chewed her lower lip. "Sometimes, if I like them enough, I allow a little touching. If they're gentlemen."
I took the hint and kissed her again. It occurred to me that we could use some music. I fooled with the car radio.
Sharon hit my chest with her fist.
"You ape," she said. "I never had to beg for a kiss before. Is something wrong with me? Be frank. I already hate you-so you have nothing to lose."
I sighed in my wisdom and said pompously, "You're a lovely girl, Sharon, but you're shallow and superficial. You don't know about life-"
She burst into tears. "Of course I'm shallow. What else have I had a chance to be? Let me tell you something, big smart Mister Paul Cook-you're shallow too. You're more of a kid than I am, even if you've lived with a woman in sin. You're nothing, nothing-"
She had me upset, sore, somehow interested-and I stopped her words with my mouth. Now I could feel her through layers of cloth. I was used to nakedness, unhampered and uninhibited access to a woman's body. Yet Sharon had the lure of the hidden, the prized, the inaccessible.
The big, pointed, out-thrusting breasts were impossible to judge. Her bra was stiff and unyielding. Through the brocade I could not tell if she wore falsies or not.
I put my hand on her bare knees and ran my fingers up the inside of her thigh. Above her stockings the skin was velvet smooth.
"Don't," she breathed.
Her thighs locked, imprisoning my hand.
"What a puritan," I said. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
Her muscles relaxed. She no longer tried to stop the advance of my hand.
She had on an armor-plated panty-girdle. I gave up in disgust and started the car.
"It's past one. I'd better get you home."
"I suppose so," she agreed in a small, strained voice.
We rode in silence for a few minutes before Sharon said, "You wanted me to take down my dress and undo my bra, didn't you?"
"Yes, I guess so."
She pointed out, "But this was only our first date." I said nothing. If I was half-square, torn between two kinds of values, there was no question about Sharon-she was square all the way.
I wondered what the reward would be for the square male who eventually won her.
She continued, "If we have another date, I might not wear a girdle."
I groaned.
"You're even less deep than I thought," I said. "But how about next Friday night?"
"I think I'm free." She hugged my arm. "You're really nice. You'd make some girl a good husband."
When I pulled up in front of her house Sharon said, "Don't bother coming to the door with me. You can kiss me good night here."
She offered her lips.
I kissed her. Her parted lips invited my tongue. One of her hands seemed accidentally to brush across my pants front.
She said quickly, "Oh, I'm sorry," and giggled.
The contact, of course, had been deliberate. She had been curious to learn whether her kisses aroused me.
She opened the car door.
"Good night, Paul. Thank you for a wonderful time."
"Next Friday?" I reminded her. "Yes, Friday."
She walked quickly to the house, waved and went in.
Thoughts of Sali filled my mind with a rush. I wanted to drive at once to the beach and see how she was getting along. I worried about her.
But the gas gauge indicator pointed to near zero. I couldn't go anywhere but home. I had no money for gas.
10
THE NEXT morning, Sunday, I followed Dad out to the yard.
He set to tinkering with the power mower. I squatted beside him. "Trouble?"
"Just tightening the blades." He grunted, used a wrench. "Something you want to talk about?"
I managed a casual tone. "Not really. I want to borrow some money."
"Sorry, Paul. You're out of luck. I spent my flower allowance already. All I've got left is gas and lunch money for next week."
"That's what I wanted it for-gas."
"Ask your mother. She'll give you what you need."
I tore up some blades of grass and tossed them away. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to ask her."
"She controls the money." He added apologetically, "It works out best that way." Every two weeks he gave her his check and she gave him back enough to indulge his hobby and get him to work and back.
"Yeah." I stood up. The day was beautiful. I wondered if the sun was out at the beach, if someone else was lying on the sand with Sali-
My mother was dusting the living room with a can of spray wax when I clumped indoors. She asked, "Did you wipe your feet? I just mopped the kitchen floor."
"Yes." I had wiped nothing. "I'm afraid I'll have to borrow some money from you."
She straightened and smiled. "Of course, dear. How much?"
"Ten dollars, I guess. I need money for gas."
She put down her dusting equipment and led the way to the bedroom.
She looked inside her purse and said, "Your father has delivered machinery to some of Mr. Howe's shops. They're a much respected family." She took out a wad of money. "Do you like Sharon?"
"Yes."
"Isn't she a much nicer girl than you-know-who at the beach?"
"I suppose most people would think so."
"Are you going to see Sharon again?"
"Yes. We have a date next Friday night. We seem to get along fine." I hated myself for saying what Mother wanted to hear. I wanted to raise my hands to my chest as though they were paws, open my mouth and pant like a dog who performs a trick for a biscuit.
Mother handed me two fives and a ten. When I said I needed less, she insisted, "That's all right. You can never tell. And if you need money this Friday for your date you let me know."
I put the money in my wallet, went back to the living room and found the want ads. I was looking through the classifieds when my friend Marty pulled up in front of the house. I watched him from my chair by the window. He sat in his old sedan and seemed to make a notation in a small booklet. Then he came to the door.
We went to my room. He sat in the rocker by my desk, put his feet up and asked, "How did the date go last night? Score any points?"
"Yeah. She let me kiss her. Next time she says she'll take her dress down and unhook her bra."
Marty sat forward. "No kiddin'? How do you do it?
Even Eileen's getting cold on me now, always turning her head away. They get you to thinking they're hot to trot, then after you marry them."
"Sali wasn't like that."
"She was putting on the pressure to get married, wasn't she? If you'd married her she'd have turned into ice. It's all show. None of them like sex."
Maybe he meant that none of them liked Marty. I did not make the point, a cruel one.
He picked up an electronics book, looked at the title, put it back and said, "I never try to sell memberships to women any more. They pretend they're interested and waste your time but they never sign up. I've had bad luck lately. They told me they'd let me go if I didn't make more sales-but hell, who can sell with the kind of leads they give?"
"How are the other salesmen doing?"
"Okay. But they don't have the worries I have. That damn Eileen. Hey, I met a woman yesterday, brunette, with a shape, about thirty-five. Boy, the way she got close to me when I was explaining the deal-rubbed her tit on my elbow. I'm going to see her again tonight but I need a little money. Could you lend me a couple of bucks?"
I told him the score. I was broke myself, except for what I had borrowed.
"You can spare two bucks to a good friend. I'll pay you back next week, as soon as I make a sale."
"All I have is a five-dollar bill."
"Let me have it. I'm good for it, you know that"
So I gave him five dollars.
Marty kissed the portrait of Lincoln and moved toward the door. "I've got an appointment with a lead. Who knows, maybe I'll make the sale and be back in half an hour with your money."
I led the way down to the living room, watched him
J walk jauntily to his car. I wished five dollars could have made me feel as good.
Back among the help wanted ads my gaze shifted to a nurse's aide job that Sali might have liked. I thought of calling and telling her about it.
I started for the phone, then realized Mother would hear the conversation.
I had to gas up anyway, the day was perfect for driving, I might as well go see Chuck-
I couldn't get Sali out of my mind.
After I had the gas tank filled, I turned west toward Sali. But soon I found myself driving on the street where Sharon lived. I stopped in front of her house. I made a bargain with myself. If Sharon was busy or on a date I could in good conscience visit Sali. The decision would not be mine but up to fate.
Mrs. Howe answered my knock. Her smile was wonderful. "Why, Paul. Come in. Sharon's in the basement doing some ironing."
I didn't want to intrude. I explained that I had stopped on impulse.
"That's perfectly all right. This way." She seemed shorter today. She was wearing flat-heeled slippers.
David Howe was in the kitchen, turning out a light over the stove. He grumbled, "Everything's electric now and the damn company keeps raising the rates. Hello, Paul. Glad you didn't keep her out till four in the morning like most of the others."
He too wore slippers. His gold-rimmed glasses caught the reflection of the kitchen ceiling light. He slapped at the switch. "Lights in the daytime," he chided his wife. He went past us to the living room.
Mrs. Howe called down the basement steps, "Sharon, Paul Cook is here to see you."
"Paul? Oh, no. I look awful."
Mrs. Howe closed the stairway door behind me. I went down to the basement.
Sharon was at an ironing board in the middle of a paneled rec room. She was wearing a quilted multicolored robe. Her feet were bare, her hair covered by a transparent plastic cap. Her face was pallid, her breasts flat under the robe.
She gasped when she saw me, "How dare you come down here?" She turned her face. "Go away."
"I like you this way. When you're dressed up you're too artificial."
"I'll kill my mother. She had no business letting you down here."
"I'm not dressed up either." She pleaded, "Paul, go upstairs. I don't want you to see me this way. You're unfair."
"But I think you're pretty."
"I wouldn't be like this if he didn't make us do our own laundry. Oh, how I hate him. Always complaining about expense. He even makes Mother bake all the pies and cakes."
"Your father?"
"Yes, my father. Please, Paul, go away."
"I've already seen you. So why not relax and visit?"
"You'll laugh at me. You'll tell Marty and everyone else you saw me like this. What a joke."
"There's nothing to laugh about. So you're not dressed up, so what?"
"I don't have anything on underneath."
"I'm not going to rape you."
"I feel naked this way-with a man around. Please go."
"Okay, okay." I headed for the steps. I must have sounded disgusted because she called, "Paul, we still have a date Friday, don't we?"
"Yeah. HI be here."
"I'm sorry, but I'll make it up to you then. I really will, I promise. I like you very much, Paul."
I was compelled to say, "I like you, too, Sharon. I'll see you next weekend."
I was glad to emerge from the basement. I had a sensation of freedom. Sharon would never know she made a decision for me-I could go to Sali.
Mr. and Mrs. Howe were in the living room. Mrs. Howe said, "Going so soon?"
I nodded and let myself out the front door.
* * *
I inexpertly whistled a tune as I headed toward the coast. I thought of going from door to door, carrying my tube caddy and offering to fix the household TV at or under the local service-call rates. Soon I'd have repeat business and word-of-mouth advertising. I could work out of my old apartment. Sali and I would be happy again. She must have missed me as much as I missed her. She would cry my name and throw herself into my arms.
I found a parking spot near the building, which I considered a good omen. I went up the stairs two and three at a time and knocked on the apartment door.
I heard a woman's steps. The door opened and I faced a stranger.
She was short, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, with close-cropped wavy black hair. She wore slacks, shiny black loafers, a loose reddish shirt-jacket. She was a type common enough on the beach. Only her beardless face and repressed bust line indicated that she was female.
"I thought Sali Green lived here," I said.
The les looked me up and down. She called over her shoulder, "Sali. Some man to see you."
The woman obviously was not going to invite me in. Had Sali turned to the twilight?
Sali appeared. Her blouse was new, her white shorts and thong sandals were familiar.
She saw me and stopped.
"Paul," she said tonelessly.
She was beautiful beyond belief. I said, "I came by to see how you're getting along."
The lesbian said, "She's getting along fine."
Sali put her hand on the woman's arm. "Leave us alone for a minute, will you, Bobbie?"
"This is the guy who walked out on you, isn't it?"
"Yes. Please go down to the store and get a quart of milk."
Bobbie looked at me contemptuously. "Okay. I'll be back in five minutes." She brushed past me and clumped down the stairs.
When we were alone Sali said, "What do you want?"
I couldn't help my reply. "You. I love you."
"Oh, Paul, don't-" She lowered her face.
I started toward her, wanting to embrace her. She turned and ran. I followed her into the living room.
She faced me. "Do you have a ring with you?"
"A ring?" But I knew what she meant.
"An engagement ring."
"No. I'm broke. I quit Herb."
"I'd take a cigar band if it meant you wanted to marry me."
I blurted out, "Are you pregnant?"
She smiled bitterly. "Would you marry me if I were?"
I had no answer. Finally I said, "We were happy."
"You were."
"You liked it as much as I did."
"You mean sex." Sali locked her fingers and studied them. "Yes, I like sex. But love and happiness, for a woman, have to be more than sex. I want to walk down the street with you and feel a wedding ring on my finger. I don't want the world to call me a tramp."
"That never bothered you before. Hell with the world."
"You don't mean that, Paul. If you did, you'd marry me without a murmur. Don't you realize we both changed while we lived together?"
I was afraid to admit she was right. I said, "We're the wrong age for each other."
"I'll forgive your youth. You'll always go to an older woman, Paul-one way or another. Where are you living now? Did you run back to your mother?"
"I didn't run back. It's only temporary."
Sali laughed sadly. "She's got her little boy back now. And you're happy there with her. She'll take good care of you."
"You're the one I want."
"You want to live with the old Sali, the shack-up, the easy lay, the girl who was so sad and pathetic and willing and grateful. That was good for your ego, wasn't it, Paul? Now I'm not so cheap."
"Aren't you? What about that lesbian-Bobbie?"
"She's sharing expenses."
"And the bed."
Sali whitened. "Oh, that's so typical. I won't come back to you so that means I've turned lesbian. No woman could possibly resist you unless she were perverted."
I said doggedly, "You didn't have to take in a butch. I would have given you more money. I've got some now if you need it."
"How sweet of you. That would be a step up, wouldn't it? From shack-up to mistress."
"Sali, I don't want to fight with you." I tried again to take her into my arms.
She backed away. "Get out, Paul," she ordered.
"I'll stay until your precious butch gets back."
"Paul, if you can't be an adult-if you don't want a wife who loves you-"She blinked at tears. "Damn you, leave me alone."
We both heard Bobbie coming back up the stairs. I took a five-dollar bill from my wallet and put it on the arm of a chair.
Sali yelled, "I don't want your money."
I hurried out, almost colliding with Bobbie, needing to escape before Sali could return my money.
The money was a link between us, a payment for my right to come back here again.
I drove away fast.
As I turned the corner, I saw Harley coming out of the package store on the corner. He held a bottle by the neck. With him was a black-haired girl in a sloppy long skirt and purple blouse.
He saw me, waved and called, "Hey, Cook, hold it." He ran into the street.
I stopped, absurdly glad to see someone I knew, even Harley. I didn't want to be alone.
My window was down. He caught up with me, leaned on the window edge. He was half swacked. "What are you doing out here? Visiting Sali?"
"Yeah."
"Got a helluva surprise, didn't you?" He grinned. "Did you see her dyke?"
"Sali isn't like that. She's only sharing expenses."
His grin turned dirty. His girl came closer, stood patiently behind him. She was barefoot. Black and blue marks showed on her arms and legs. Her nipples poked against her sleazy blouse. Her skirt was too big for her bony hips. She had pinned it tight at her waist.
I raced the engine. Harley stopped laughing, said, "Look, no hard feelings, huh?" He turned to the girl. "This is the guy who clopped me once. Tough guy Paul Cook."
She blinked and shifted her gaze from him to me.
Harley continued, "Look, I have a bottle here. Come to my dump and have a drink? Bygones be bygones."
I said, "Okay." I wanted to ask questions. What a hell of a Sunday. Sharon had thrown me out, Sali had done the same-but Harley was taking me in.
I drove them to his place. He had moved to quarters even more squalid, if that were possible, than those he had used last month.
He said proudly, "It may not be much but it's cheap."
Rose slouched into a worn sofa with dirty pillows and bloated cushions. She said, "I've had five kids." Her voice was without pitch. She pulled up her skirt and picked at a scab on her knee.
I said, "Oh?"
"I'll probably have some more. The welfare takes them away from me."
Harley came back with three glasses, the kind that pickles come in. He had taken the seal from the bottle and had obviously taken a few swallows before offering the balance of his vodka.
The floor creaked as he carried a glass toward me. "Here y'are. Don't let Rose bend your ear about her babies. She gets knocked up, has a kid, adopts it away and starts all over again."
She said, "I'm sick."
Harley poured her vodka. "Damn right you're sick. Don't I know it. I'm the guy has to pay for your medicine." He turned to me. "Twenty bucks a month for little green pills. Without 'em she has all kinds of jerks and twitches."
He gave a crude quick imitation of a spastic's movements.
I was sick also, though not in Rose's way. I wanted to get out before I retched. Harley was saying, "Let's drink to a terrific lay gone to hell, gone to the dykes."
I said, "Sali's a man's woman."
"Who knows, maybe her dyke uses a dingus. She probably puts us both to shame."
Rose said, "The last one was named Billy."
Harley said, "Shut up, stupid." He slapped me on the back. "Finish your drink, tough guy. Found a job yet?"
I shook my head.
"Try Bolltronics. They're closer to where you live. I heard they're hiring."
"Thanks," I said. "I've got to get home."
"What for? You got a wife and kids waiting? Stick around. Take another drink. We can have a ball. I don't mind sharing my girl with friends."
I ran out of Harley's, choking for a taste of clean air.
But he had given me a job lead-which was all anyone had given me that day, with no strings attached.
11
INSTEAD OF entering my own house that night, a fleeting impulse made me stop next door to see Vi and Barry. I knew Vi was afraid of our relationship-and so was I. But she was understanding and kind.
Vi came to the door. She paled when she saw me. But she said, "Hi, Paul. Barry and I were just talking about calling to see if you'd like to come over." She was brisk, I gathered, for her husband's benefit, not mine. I stepped into their house.
Barry was practicing putting on the living room carpet. "Do any golfing, Paul?" he asked.
Golf was beyond my means, I admitted. I sat and watched him putt a ball to within an inch of a water glass from eight feet away. "You're pretty good," I told him.
Vi said tartly, "On a rug he's good, on a green he's lousy. Let's play cards-Pinochle. Barry, you get the table out. I'll dish up some ice cream." She went to the kitchen, returned a minute later to announce, "There isn't enough. Barry, run down to the market and get a half gallon of Neopolitan."
I said, "I'm not very hungry. Don't bother just for me."
Vi insisted hectically that Barry leave.
As soon as he was past the door, Vi settled on the sofa and held out her arms.
"We don't have time to do anything," I said. She scared me. She seemed to have lost control of her emotions.
"He'll be gone for at least five minutes. You can give me that much, can't you? A quickie?" she laughed unhappily. "What are you afraid of? Me?"
I was sitting in the club chair. I went to her, mesmerized, baffled.
She licked her lips. I met her hot mouth. She came into my lap. She moaned and tightened her arms on my neck when our tongues met. "Pull up my skirt," she whispered. "Quickly-I need you."
I did as she asked. Somehow we writhed so that our bodies touched, so that I managed a limited assault-
We played with fire and lightning. As suddenly as she had initiated the mad swift act, Vi urged me to finish it. The stream of my bewildered lust, as though in startlement, erupted within her.
We had ourselves presentable again as Barry opened the door.
My mouth was dry. My belly trembled with a kind of frustration at the animal nature of the act we had just completed, Vi Patterson and L
Barry thumped his package on the kitchen drain-board.
Vi went directly to the kitchen and served the ice cream as Barry set up the card game.
After two hours of play during which Vi won one game and I another, I said, "I'll have to go now. I've got to get up early tomorrow and seriously look for a job."
"One more game?" Barry urged.
Vi gathered the cards and put them back in the box. "Let him go, tiger. You couldn't win if we played all night"
She was right. Barry overbid constantly. But she was cruel to criticize, I thought.
I stood up. "Thanks for the ice cream." Barry said, "Come again." Vi commented, "He will." She forgot to smile.
* * *
Bolltronics was a cement-block building with its name over the plate glass door in foot-high brass letters.
I had worn my suit for the job hunt but the other men, even supervisors, were in plain work clothes. I saw a white shirt and tie here and there, but no suits.
The receptionist-secretary gave me an application form to fill out. "You can use that spare desk in the corner," she said.
The firm had no formal personnel office. Through a half-open door I could see part of the interior of the plant, an assembly line table where a row of women worked with soldering guns on mazes of wiring. I liked the feel of the place-people were here for work, not show.
A tall man with a hawk-like nose gave me a quick interview. He was the only other person in a suit. The suit was wrinkled and his tie was askew.
He sat at a large cluttered steel desk and scanned the form I had filled out.
After a moment he spun the paper in a floating arc to a pile of similar applications on his desk. "I know Herb Fulkin," he said. He reached for a phone and dialed.
I had to admire the man as I heard him talking to Herb. He went straight to the point without wasting time. I noticed a name plate on his desk-Grant BoU. He was the owner.
He cradled the phone and told me, "You've got two strikes against you. You didn't get along with Herb's pet Neanderthaler and you live some distance away. We start work at eight. You'd have to be here by at least seven-forty-five."
"If I got the job I'd move closer."
Boll grunted and flipped an intercom switch.
A male voice grated, "Yes, Mr. Boll?"
"I've got you a tube tester. Come and get him." Boll closed the circuit. "Paul, Herb-likes you. I'm giving you the rest of the day to impress my foreman. If he thinks you'll work, you're hired. If not, you get seven hours pay and a boot in the ass for wasting our time. Okay?" I grinned. "Okay."
For the rest of the day I was glad I had studied my field. The work I would be doing here was largely preventive, to make sure the electronic equipment in the plant kept operating. My foreman grated the prime rule over and over. "You won't be employed to fix things. We don't care how brilliant you are at repairing a machine. The machine shouldn't break down in the first place. So if you can keep this stuff operating, Boll won't care if you sit on your prat most of the time. He'll give you a raise and my job."
By lunch time I had inspected every electronic device in the building and familiarized myself with its purpose and workings. Some of it was beyond anything I knew in design, but I saw that I would have file cabinets full of schematics and specifications and blueprints to call upon.
I was too excited to eat lunch. I drank a coke and munched an apple from a vending machine while I sat studying layouts and tube-transistor combinations.
During the afternoon I had to stop the multi-press for seconds while I replaced the tubes.
After I started the press again I saw Boll watching me. He called me over. "Why did you replace all those tubes?"
"One of them was beginning to short"
"Why not replace just that one?"
"It would have taken ten minutes to test them all and find the bad one. This way the press is stopped a minimum of time and I can test these without keeping the machine idle. After the shift I can replace the good ones and no production time is wasted."
Boll nodded. "You're hired. The pay is five-fifty a month to start. Get here early tomorrow morning to fill out the tax forms and such." He smiled and turned away.
The foreman slapped me on the back. "He-likes you. I do too. Now get back to work."
I felt like singing. I left the plant at ten of five with a thick file of schematics to study overnight.
Mother and Dad were probably waiting supper. I phoned from a booth.
Mother answered the phone. She seemed unexcited when I told her about my job.
I hung up and left the phone booth, my head in the clouds.
Five hundred fifty dollars a month. Less taxes, I still could rent an apartment of my own, go out more, wear good clothes and, after a couple of months, when I really had the job nailed down, I could get Sali back again. Or marry Sharon.
At home, my mother had the breakfast nook set for one. She sat facing me as I ate and asked, "Why were you so late calling me?"
"Didn't get a chance. I worked almost a full day, as a tryout. Then Mr. Boll hired me."
"Are you sure you've got the job? Some people say they'll hire you and don't. They're only interested in getting you to work free for a day."
I smiled. "I'm sure."
She had poured herself a cup of coffee. As she sipped the steaming liquid, she said, "I suppose you'll take that girl back."
The telephone rang. I welcomed the interruption of Mother's musings. The call was for me, from Sharon. At first I was afraid she might want to break our date. She said, "I'm sorry I was so sticky with you yesterday. Forgive me?"
"Sure. Today I'd forgive the Borgias. I just got a wonderful job, terrific pay, work I like, with people who know what they're doing."
"Oh, good. I'm happy for you, Paul. Who do you work for?" I told her and she said, "I've never heard of the company. Is it big?"
"They employ about fifty people."
"Oh. Well, you have to start somewhere. Maybe after a while you can get a job with one of the big important companies."
"Size isn't-"
"I'll ask Daddy if he's heard of it. The reason I called is, I wanted to apologize and see if you would like to come over tonight. Mother has some fresh fudge. We could go up to my room and play records or watch TV or something. Daddy won't let me go out this week. Except with you. He-likes you."
I explained that I'd have liked to come over, but I had just started this job and had a lot of studying to do.
She seemed not to understand. "I get so bored. The walls seem to close in on me. So I was hoping-" Her voice lowered. "We would do some cuddling. I promised I'd make up for being nasty to you."
I said, "I can't, Sharon. I have to learn what I'm handling as quickly as possible. Any other time I'd love to see you. Hell, I'd be there like a shot."
"I understand. Your job has to come first. I'll say goodbye and let you go back to studying."
"Don't be mad."
"I'm not mad. I'll see you Friday night. 'Bye."
" 'Bye." I cradled the phone and went to my room to study.
12
THE NEXT night around eight Mother called up to my room, "Paul, Vi's here. She wants to know if you'd like to go bowling."
I rubbed my eyes and put down my files of electronic diagrams. After another day on the job I dared to take an evening off. But with Vi? Even if we were a threesome?
Vi was in the kitchen, dressed in pants, a leather car coat and short leather boots. She looked, as always, attractive. Mother was handing her a cup of coffee.
Vi said in her good-neighbor voice, "Hi. This is Wednesday, remember? Barry and I are headed for the lanes. Want to come along? You promised last week that you would."
In spite of everything I liked Vi.
I said, "Wait'll I get a coat."
As I went upstairs I heard Mother urge Vi to talk some sense into me. Mother was blue at the prospect of my moving out once more, even for the sake of a good job.
Vi and I crossed the driveway to the idling car where Barry waited.
She asked, "How's the new job working out?"
"Fine. The best thing that ever happened to me."
"That's wonderful," she said. "Now you'll be moving away. We'll miss you."
We climbed into the front seat. Vi was in the middle. Her knee pressed against mine with every motion of the car.
Barry said, "Still happy with the job, Paul?"
When I said I was he seemed pleased. It crossed my mind that in one way the Pattersons were the best people I knew-in other ways, the worst.
At the bowling alley, after the second game, Vi sent Barry for three cups of hot chocolate.
She said, "I'm supposed to coax you not to move away." She touched my ear with her finger. "I already miss you, Paul. like I miss the children I never had. Do you ever miss your girl that way-the one who's so bad for you?"
"I miss her," I said.
She kept touching me lightly.
"Stick with your college girl-even if she seems silly and childish at times. She will get older. Are you going to have an apartment all to yourself?"
"Yes."
Barry was still walking away from us toward the vending machine.
"Too bad. I'll probably make up some excuse for getting nights off at times, so I can visit you. Which will do neither of us any good. I feel ashamed-and yet I can't help myself." She paused. "I want you right now."
I was flattered. I looked from her lowered brown eyes to her bust. The hell with Sali. If Sali didn't want me short of marriage, other women did.
I said, "I'll let you know as soon as I find a place."
Vi squeezed my hand. "Rent an apartment with a good bed."
Barry returned with the chocolate. We bowled a third game. Incredibly for him, he started with a strike. He strutted back to the scoring table.
"How do you like them apples?"
Vi smiled encouragingly. "That's wonderful, darling."
I liked Barry. I was glad when he won the game. Vi got a seven-ten split and finished last. I nosed her out by one pin.
During the drive home she was snappish and edgy. She carefully did not press my knee. All Barry could talk about was the way his ball had rolled into the pocket.
And all I could think of, finally, was Sali. We were three people in three separate hells.
After I said goodnight to Vi and Barry, instead of going inside, I walked down the driveway and got into my own car.
I sat in the cold and remembered how it had been with the heater on when Sali and I had gone to the drive-in movies. I remembered the funny comments we had made about the acting, the plot, the special effects in a science fiction film. We had laughed delightedly, gasped, held hands.
I sat gripping the steering wheel. I knew I had business turning in. It was past nine and I had to get up damn early. But the night, for me, was haunted.
I slapped the wheel and cursed myself aloud.
She doesn't want you. Get her out of your system.
I thought of Vi and Sharon-and came to a decision. I started the car and headed for the beach. I knew that I had to be nuts but, like Vi, I could not help myself.
* * *
I reached the familiar street corner after eleven. My eyes sought the upstairs windows of our apartment. They were dark.
I parked and went upstairs. I knocked at the door. No answer. I knocked again, louder. I waited, unwilling to leave. I tortured myself with scenes in my mind of Sali and the butch in bed together, naked, moaning-
I tried the door, found it locked. I paced the upstairs hall for minutes, then walked slowly down the stairs, hoping that when I reached the ground floor they would come in. Or that as I emerged from the building I would see them turning into the walk-or that as I reached my car they would turn the corner.
But no one came. Just before midnight I disconsolately left the curb.
I was too worked up to go home. I stopped near Chuck's pad and walked along a narrow garbage-strewn alley to the rear entrance of the old gray house where he lived. The hallway seemed littered with exactly the same newspapers as before.
I rapped on his door.
He called, "Enter."
The black room was lit as usual by candles. Chuck was alone with his girl, Karla. They were both lying on the covered mattress in a corner. Crystal clear jazz piano came from the phonograph.
Chuck said, "Hey, Paul. What are you doing way out here this time of night?"
Karla said, "Shut the damn door."
I closed the door and squatted near the foot of the mattress. Karla's uniform had ridden up to her thighs, showing the tops of her stockings and her garter belt snaps. She seemed not to care.
I asked Chuck if he had seen Sali lately.
He shook his head. "No, man, sorry."
"Know anything about the girl she took in to share expenses?"
"I heard she's gay."
Karla moved to the phonograph and turned the sound low.
"A typical square checking up on his ex-girl friend."
I tried to ignore her. I wished to hell Chuck had been alone.
"Do you know-is Sali turning queer?"
Chuck shook his head. "I don't think she'd go that route. She's what you'd call a good girl. A diamond in the rough. You're crazy, man, if you don't take her and marry her-if that's the only way to keep her."
Karla said sarcastically, "He's got morals."
I said, "Harley told me she was different now."
Karla could not keep quiet.
"So what if she turned gay? What's so terrible about that, except that she isn't interested in you any more?"
"I love her," I said in pain. "I want to keep her from harm."
"Ho, ho. You want her for meat, is all."
I stood up quickly. "Thanks, Chuck. Call me if you learn anything."
"Sure, Paul."
As I left I heard Karla laughing. I wanted to go back and hit her.
I couldn't stop myself from driving back to the apartment. The lights were still out. Where was Sali? At a gay party?
I could wait no longer. As it was I would have to float my kidneys in coffee the next day to stay awake on the job.
I drove home, worrying all the way.
Sali ... Sali....
When I entered the house the night light was on in the living room. I tried to be quiet as I crept toward the stairs.
I heard a scurrying in the hall. Mother appeared in her wrapper with her hair done up and cold cream on her face.
"Paul, where have you been? I've been worried."
"I went for a drive."
"Did you go to see that girl?"
"No," I said. "I haven't seen her."
"Dear, are you sure?"
I stared at her. "Why would I lie to you, Mother."
"I love you, Paul. You're my only son. I just don't want you to get into trouble."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
I clumped loudly up the stairs, seething inside.
13
FRIDAY NIGHT on my arrival at Sharon's house, I discovered I had left my wallet on my bed. It was too late to go back for it-Mrs. Howe had opened the door for me.
She said, "Sharon's ready. You look nice, Paul."
I smiled and bowed slightly. "You look nice, too, Mrs. Howe. I wish I could afford to take you out, too."
She laughed her nice laugh. "Don't make that offer twice, Paul, or I'll accept."
I went into the house. The interior, as always, was cozy and neat. I could detect Mrs. Howe's perfume. David Howe walked into the entranceway with the evening paper. He stuck his hand out.
"Paul. How's the job coming?"
"Fine, sir."
'Tve heard of your firm. A fine, vigorous small corporation. A comer. Stick with them and you'll rise as they do."
"I intend to."
"I wish I had a son to work into my business. Or a smart son-in-law-but Sharon's-likely to up and marry one of the smart alecks from that college of hers." He looked me up and down. "Nice suit. You look self-respecting."
Sharon came smiling down the stairs. She wore an electric blue dress that rustled and crackled with her every move. Her shoes matched the dress exactly and her stockings, black and patterned, gave her a doll-like polish. Her hair was different, set in a smooth page-boy style. But she had applied too much eye shadow and lipstick, enough for a hardened fifty-dollar prostitute.
She took my arm.
"No corsage?"
I snapped my fingers. "Forgot it." Mrs. Howe said, "One on the first date is enough, Sharon."
I promised her father, "We won't be too late."
"I'm not worried. You I trust." He patted my shoulder.
We went down the walk to my car. Her mother closed the door behind us. Sharon said. "They both like you. They're always asking why my other boys aren't as nice." She got into the front seat. "They just think my other dates are rotten because the fellows don't dress up as you do. You know how sticky parents can be just because a boy parts his hair wrong or something."
"Yes, I've got a pair of my own."
I started the car. I could have done with less talk of her other dates. She could save those discussions for her girl friends.
"Sharon, do you mind if we stop at my house? I left my wallet at home."
"Of course I don't mind. I'd like to meet your parents."
I parked in front of our house.
Sharon said, "It's nice. Those are lovely flowers."
"My dad's hobby." I took her in and introduced her to Mother. Dad was in the greenhouse.
They simpered and cooed at each other. Mother complimented Sharon on the blue dress. Sharon complimented mother on her cute little decorating touches.
I went upstairs for my wallet. When I came down Mother was taking Sharon on a guided tour of the curtains, rugs and pictures of cute little puppies which added up to our home.
"We'd better go now, Sharon," I said.
"I guess so." She smiled at Mother. "I hope I'll have another chance to see your house, Mrs. Cook."
"You just make Paul bring you over. You're always welcome."
I was glad Mother liked Sharon. I was glad I had finally pleased her. I felt happy inside. I remembered Sali and the happiness turned sour.
As we drove, Sharon said, "I like your mother."
"You're the kind of girl she wants me to marry."
Sharon shifted nearer to me. "Let me tell you a secret. You're the kind of boy my daddy wants me to marry. Where are we going, Paul?"
"There's a fantastic place by the ocean that I'd like to have you see."
"What's its name? I've been to all the really good places."
"It's The Sad Place. You'll like it."
"I've never heard of it. Is the food good?"
"They only have sandwiches."
"Are you broke?"
"No. Just wait," I told her.
The Sad Place was a store-front beatnik saloon that featured wild murals on high plastered walls, symbolically painted beams and plain wooden tables and chairs. The place was run by three smart young men who were far from beats themselves.
When we entered Sharon was doubtful. "Did you drag me all that way just to sit in a cellar? We have cellars closer to home."
"There's a fine folk singer here. He comes on in a few minutes."
"I don't like folk singers. Most of them can't carry a tune and they're always making mistakes on their guitars or banjos." She seated herself reluctantly and looked around. "We're the only people here with clean clothes," she complained.
A beatnik waiter, complete with beard and turtle-neck sweat shirt, came to our table and flipped a checkered cloth over the scarred wood surface.
I said, "A pitcher of dark beer. And send Rill over."
He nodded and went away. Sharon said, "I don't like beer." She shifted uncomfortably on her hard-bottomed chair, looked around disapprovingly at the murals.
It crossed my mind she had the same outlook and prejudices as did my mother. I told her so. "The time has come," I pronounced, "for you to broaden your outlook."
She said, "We can stay for a glass of beer if you like. But I'd like to eat in a real place."
She saw the hostess and her mouth hung open as she stared at the lovely brunette, six-feet-six in three-inch heels, who was a local landmark in her tight white capris, white fuzzy pullover sweater and languid, sexy walk.
The brunette smiled. "Hi, squares." The greeting was standard. She carried a black tray with a pitcher of dark beer and two mugs.
I said, "I'll have cheese on rye." I looked at Sharon. "They have cheese, turkey, roast beef and ham sandwiches on any kind of bread."
Sharon scraped her lower lip with her teeth, flicked glances at me, the hostess, the beer. She said quietly, "Roast beef, please."
After our hostess had walked away with her patented hip-shift walk, Sharon said, "I really don't like this place. It's vulgar."
"No, it isn't. Wait, you'll like it."
"Do you know that girl very well?"
"Of course not. Why, are you so jealous?"
"Don't be silly." Sharon opened her purse and took out her lipstick and a small mirror. She began to repair her mouth.
I said, "Haven't you ever been to a beatnik place before?"
"My dates take me to nice places."
"Your dates have been slobs. People from Hollywood, Malibu, all over, come to hear this guy sing. Later, you'll see Continentals, Imperials, Cadillacs, foreign cars parked in the lot outside. Women in fur coats, movie stars, rich people sit around here drinking beer-this is the in place now. The owners have made it a gold mine."
"Really?" Sharon looked once more at the other guests. At that moment, a recognizable television actress came in with an escort. Sharon's eyes widened. "Look," she said. "You know who that is?"
"I told you."
She was suddenly and completely converted. "Well, I've wanted to go to unusual places but my dates are all so common. They lack imagination. They drag me to the same old restaurants and we have the same old boring drinks and meals."
"But you said this place was vulgar."
"Well, it is. But it's interestingly vulgar, if you know what I mean." Her eyes darted around in search for other faces she had seen on TV or in pictures.
"You're hopeless," I scolded her. "A follower. You'll have to learn to think for yourself, to like things before they're popular."
Our sandwiches were brought to us.
The folk singer came out and climbed onto a stage that was part of the long bar. He performed in a fine clear voice.
Sharon clapped with the others when he had finished. "He's very good. I'm surprised." She bit into her sandwich and sipped beer.
After the singer had finished his first appearance of the night I suggested we go to a movie. Sharon shook her head. "Let's stay. I want to see who else might come in. Could I have another sandwich?"
"Sure." I signaled for two more sandwiches. I told Sharon, "There's an excellent French movie showing near here. You'd like it, unless your other dates have been taking you to lousy Hollywood movies and ruined your taste for keeps."
I had made her humble. She pleaded, "I haven't been to many foreign films. But I like them, I really do."
Could I make Sharon over into someone with Sali's best qualities-plus her own respectable status in my home town?
We stayed at The Place until the noise got too loud for us to talk and the smoke too thick for us to see. When we left and got into my car, she cuddled close.
"It's cold," she said. "Turn on the heater."
It was too late to see a movie now and too early to go home. I drove slowly. Sharon's dress rustled as she stirred beside me. The slick material over her breast pressed at my upper arm.
She said, "That beer made me kind of high."
"You were drinking it pretty fast at the end." She had put away a pitcher all by herself.
"I don't usually like beer. Tonight I liked it." She giggled. "I promised you something. Let's stop somewhere and talk."
I turned onto the downhill ramp to the beach. There were few other cars in the parking lot. Only a handful of people were out on the sand, using the public fire pits for weinie roasts or bonfires. I parked in a far corner.
Sharon tossed her purse into the back seat. The heater had made the car toasty. She said, "I feel good, really good, like there was a funny bubble machine in my brain." She leaned against me. "You can kiss me if you want to. You'd better want to."
I kissed her. She pulled away. "That's enough for now. Don't be greedy. Everybody who takes me out gels greedy."
"Don't you like kissing?"
"Of course. I'm a normal girl." She pouted. "I'm better than normal. I'm padded. As you discovered."
I turned on the radio and found some soft album music.
She said, "You can put your arm around me. You act like you're not interested."
So I put my arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "You're always changing stop and go signs," I complained.
"I like to snuggle but not-you know." She hummed along with the radio for five seconds, then said, "How much do you make at your new job?"
"Five-fifty to start."
"That's very good. Daddy was impressed when I told him you worked for Talltronics."
"Bolltronics."
"Yes. Is there a chance you could get a promotion very soon?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Charlie Underwood thinks he'll be making twelve hundred a month after he graduates. He's taken me out a lot, every week for months. I think he's really gone on me. A lot of boys are. You know, I've had six proposals."
"Good for you."
"Don't laugh at me. I can pick and choose." She giggled. "But I'm not interested in any of them much. I have to think hard about who to marry. It's a serious decision."
"Yeah. All day long-decisions, decisions, decisions." I didn't like hearing about her other boy friends and I didn't like her assuming that I was panting to marry her.
"That's right. But I like you best. You're a gentleman. You don't try to paw me all the time."
I looked down at her thrusting breasts which were not all hers. "Let me tell you something about your Charlie Underdog who expects twelve hundred a month-"
"Underwood," she corrected me.
"What he expects and what he'll get are two different things. I'll bet he won't get a job. I'll bet he'll be borrowing money from you for dates."
"Paul, are you jealous?" She was delighted.
"No. But how serious are you about these other guys?"
"I don't like any of them. I was only teasing to find out if you like me."
"I wouldn't take you out if I didn't like you."
"Do you think of me when we're apart."
"Sure," I said.
Three couples came up from the beach and drove away. The night was dark and moonless. Sharon turned off the radio. The amber glow winked out of the dial and the interior of the car was suddenly in blackness.
Sharon took my left hand and placed it on her breasts. "I promised."
I squeezed her dress, her padded bra and possibly her breast. I kissed her again and again to get her aroused. Her lips warmed and softened but her breathing didn't quicken.
I moved my hand to her knee and began moving up her thigh. She broke a kiss and said, "Naughty."
The routine was the same as before. I warned her, "Sharon, if you don't like this, tell me to stop and I will. But don't tease."
"I don't mean to." She was silent only for seconds. "I like you so much. And I know you've got control. You've proved it. And I did give my promise."
She leaned forward, unsnapped and unzipped. Her dress rustled complainingly as she pulled it down to her waist.
I could barely see the white blobs of her bra. She leaned back, asked me, "Better?"
We kissed again and I put my hand on her. I said, "Let me take off your bra." She still wasn't breathing hard. For that matter, neither was I. The front third of her impressive bosom was still foam rubber.
"I'd feel naked."
"What's wrong with feeling naked?"
She said in a low voice, "Nothing-unless you know you're a disappointment. I talk a lot about my dates-but Paul, to tell the truth, boys aren't wild about me. Some of them like my folks or the nice home I live in-but not me, not really. They probably find I'm what you said-a follower."
I said sternly, "It's good you know it."
She kissed me with too much sudden passion, too much enthusiasm and moaning and small movements of her body. She sighed. "Now I'm so worked up. Are you hot, too?"
"Not really."
"I'm sorry. I know I've let you down. I didn't wear a girdle, though."
"Get your dress on straight. I'll take you home," I said.
Sharon began to cry. "You won't call me again, will you?"
"Yes. I want to see you again."
"You can call me any time, or come over any time. Mommy and Daddy like you. You're always welcome. I think I love you, Paul."
I wanted to believe her. "Good. I'm flattered. I'll call you Sunday, okay?"
"Fine. You promise?"
"Yes." I started the car. She zipped up her dress.
14
I SLEPT late the following Saturday morning. The night before I had had another frustrating date with Sharon. I had been permitted to fondle her soft naked breasts, to kiss her flaccid nipples and uplift her shallow mind.
Somehow I had become entangled in an unannounced engagement with her. She claimed me. She mouthed her love for me and I was mixed up, half inclined to go along with her, lured by her square middle-class acceptability, her promise of eventual sex and the prospect of a marriage that the world would consider normal.
Sharon had come over twice to visit. My mother was crazy about her.
This Saturday was important to me. I had received my first check from Bolltronics, I had cashed it right after work. I had two hundred thirty-six dollars in my wallet.
How would Mother take my announcement that I was going out to hunt an apartment close to my work? For two weeks she had done everything in her power to make my life so easy I would not want to leave.
I told myself I had a perfect right to live wherever I wished-and my mother had no right to make me feel like a louse for wanting to be free.
I threw my covers back and got out of bed. A car door slammed next door. When I looked out, I saw
Barry putting his golf clubs in the trunk of his car. He backed out of his driveway.
I thought of Vi. In a purely sexual way I needed a woman badly. Last night with Sharon had been a torture of sorts. Who needed a girl like Sharon?
I dressed quickly and went downstairs. Mother served me banana pancakes and sausages, meanwhile chattering happily about how lovely Sharon had looked in her new green dress last night. I had dutifully brought my girl for a short visit the night before.
"You're lucky to be getting her, Paul."
"Don't rush me. Nothing is settled. I haven't proposed."
"You should, before some other young man snaps her up."
It occurred to me that I was the bargain being snapped up, not Sharon. But I said nothing, not even about my apartment hunt.
After breakfast I backed my car into the driveway to do some work on the gas pump.
Five minutes after I had lifted the hood, Vi came out of her house and said, "Hi, Paul. How about some coffee?"
She wore denim stretch pants and carried a dust mop. Her breasts jiggled freely under her tailored shirt.
I put down a wrench and followed her into her house.
She poured me a mug full of coffee and apologized. "It's instant coffee. I ran out of regular grind last night. Now I have to wait for the divot digger to get back from the course."
"How long will he oe?"
"Hours. He wantea to play eighteen today. Shopping will have to wait."
"I could run you down to the store."
"No, I've got to get cracking on the laundry and a few other things." She took a bite of cookie and chewed slowly, watching me.
I sipped and waited. I wanted to have her but she had to start the proceedings. Because she was married, I somehow felt I could not make the first move.
She smiled. "I saw your college girl from my window. Making time?"
"Not much. She's virginal."
"And you're used to experienced women, is that it?"
"That's right. I'm frustrated."
"Do you good." Her eyes gleamed. "That's the girl for you, Paul."
I yelled, "Don't you start in, too. The girl is too damned young for me."
Vi laughed. She rose from the kitchen table, wiggled her finger at me and led me into the bedroom. I had a glimpse of two unmade twin beds, oval lavender throw rugs on the hardwood floor and creamy light sifting through the drawn shades. Then she was in my arms and our mouths were hungrily connected, our tongues flicking madly. Her hands were on my buttocks, pulling me tight.
I broke the kiss and gasped for air. She stepped away and quickly smoothed the bedding on the bed beside us. She began unbuttoning her shirt. "Don't just stand there watching, get undressed," she said.
I stripped off my clothes. I looked at her ripe nakedness.
Her nipples, already hard, fascinated me. She sank to the bed. "Don't be bashful," she urged.
"I was wondering-is that bed yours or Barry's?"
She laughed. "Mine. But I'll move over to Barry's if you want."
Briefly I was turned off. My body wanted her because she was a female but I was disgusted with both of us.
Vi sensed my mood. "Don't worry," she said. "I can tell now that this affair will have a natural end."
Seconds later I was enclosed, surrounded by arms and legs, pulled into her hot moist body and compelled to perform, to lunge, to be her conqueror and slave at once. Some thrill was missing that I had known in our previous encounters. I welcomed my own release because sex was suddenly making me blue.
I slipped out of her hold and sat on the edge of the bed.
She lay with her knees wide and said, "Hand me those cigarettes, will you?"
I lit her cigarette. She blew smoke at the ceiling. "When are you going to get your apartment?" she asked. "Your mother's been worried sick about losing you again."
"Maybe today. I got paid yesterday. I've worked two weeks."
"That's right. Time flies. As I well know."
I dressed and left her. She waved a languid farewell from the bed. Her last words were, "Remember, Paul-the college girl is the right one."
* * *
A few minutes later I was outside in the sun again, working on my car. I finished an hour later and went indoors for lunch.
I was making a cheese sandwich when Mother came up from the basement. I could hear the washer change cycles. She said, "If you'll wait a few minutes I'll make lunch for all of us."
"I only want a sandwich and some milk."
"Open a fresh loaf. Don't use that old bread."
She took the sandwich makings out of my hands. Her fingers poised, she asked, "You want just one sandwich, dear?"
"Yes, just one. I have to get going if I'm going to find an apartment." I waited for an explosion.
"Well, if you must. If you feel you aren't happy here with me and your father-"
"You treat me like a child. I want to be on my own."
"You're not a very grateful child. Maybe if you helped your father put a new roof on the garage or mowed the lawn, you'd be more contented."
"He didn't mention any roofing."
"I suppose your room is a mess again, and I'll have to go up and clean it while you're out looking for another place to live."
"It isn't messy. I'll make the bed before I leave."
"No, I'll do it. Don't make any special effort on my behalf."
I slammed my fist on the tiled drain board. The combination of her clucking and my own crazy sex life had pushed me to a mild breaking point. I said, "I've had it."
Mother jumped in startlement. Her eyes widened with hurt.
I stormed out of the kitchen to the driveway. Her sobs faded as I raced the engine and backed to the street.
15
I WAS sick and tired of possessive women, tired of being manipulated, used, tired of having my sex and obligation buttons pushed.
I wanted Sali. To hell with Mother and Vi and Sharon and middle-class morality. I drove straight to the beach. Today I would find her if I had to get help from the cops.
I was lucky. Sali answered my knock on the door.
She stared at me. She wore a sleeveless white dress and white shoes. She looked lovely.
"Are you alone?" I asked.
"Yes. Bobbie's working part time at the Tip Top."
"Where were you the other night? I came by. No one was here."
"I'm working, too," she said. "I take care of an old lady. Sometimes I'm with her overnight. I'm pulling my own weight now."
"I've got a good job. I'm leaving home for good. This afternoon I'm going to look for an apartment. Will you marry me, Sali?"
I thought she was going to cry. Instead she laughed. And she did not let me past the door.
A sickening dread filled my belly. I said, "I can afford good beer now."
She said, "I can buy my own."
"Sali, you wanted to marry me once. Remember?"
"I'd rather forget. I may have outgrown you, Paul."
"Would you ride with me while I look for a place to live? I won't ask you to live with me, no obligations, no pressure. We won't even talk about us. I just want to be with you for a while. Please don't cut me off."
My need for her welled up, embarrassing for both of us.
"All right. For a little while."
She had taken pity on me. I had humiliated myself and begged. I didn't care. In some curious way I felt I was being punished for my cruelty to Mother.
As we drove, I told her about my job. She grew interested. "I'm glad for you, Paul. Mr. Boll sounds like a wonderful man to work for."
We cruised the streets near my plant, looking for vacancy signs.
The first apartment we saw was too small and shabby. Sali looked at me and shook her head.
As we cruised again Sali asked me, "Do you study every night after work?"
"I've had a few dates with a girl. What about you?"
Sali toyed with the handle on the car door. "Nothing. Just my job."
"No men?"
"No men." She turned her face toward me. "And no Bobbie, either, in case you're wondering."
"I didn't say-"
"Though sometimes I'm tempted to try. She keeps telling me how good it is between two women. Then she makes these little passes and compliments-"
"Get rid of her."
"She pays more than her share." Sali smiled wryly. "She reminds me of you in that way."
"Do you miss me at all? I think about you every minute."
"Yes, I miss you." She frowned. "I miss lots of things. But I know when something is over."
I stopped in front of a large new apartment house. I tried to take her into my arms.
She pulled away. "I'm only along for the ride," she reminded me angrily.
"One kiss isn't going to hurt."
"Because it isn't going to happen. Now, let's go inside and look at apartments for you."
The manager was a motherly woman in her fifties. She assumed that Sali and I were married. Sali, I noticed, had twisted the moonstone ring on her finger to make it look like a wedding band.
The woman showed us a perfect apartment, complete with wall-to-wall carpeting, built-ins, new furniture, drapes, a king-size bed. The bathroom was gray tile with a new circular basin, sliding mirror doors, fluorescent lighting, a combination shower-bathtub, and plenty of storage shelves.
Sali said, "How much?"
The woman said, "One-fifty plus utilities."
Sali looked at me. "It's too much, Paul for what you earn."
"Maybe not. It's a lovely place." I sat in a foam-cushioned chair.
The manager moved to the door. "I'll let you two discuss it in private. I'll be down in my apartment if you want anything more."
When she had gone, Sali went to the kitchen and ran her hand over the gleaming white refrigerator. I followed her. I said, "It's perfect, isn't it?"
Her voice was too quiet. "Yes, it is."
I put my arms around her, kissed her shoulder.
She tensed.
"I love you, Sali. I need you," I protested. "We're right together, we don't usually fight, we enjoy each other's company-please marry me, Sali."
She said softly, "The price went up when you walked out, Paul. I want more than marriage now. I want to be accepted-even by your family, if you're the man I marry. Otherwise I'll find something else. I'm sick of being rejected." She sobbed and helplessly pressed close. Her lips were wonderfully warm and sweet. She broke and whispered, "Darling, touch me, kiss me-"
She regained control and pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said. "Now you know my terms. I don't care how expensive your apartment is."
A wild plan formed in my brain. I said, "I want you to come with me to visit Mother. You look nice in that dress. You'll impress her. She only saw you once, in my robe."
Sali pushed my hands away. She took a long breath.
"It won't work, Paul. You'll marry the girl she wants and live where she wants you to live. I'm not what she wants for you."
I heard myself brag, "My mother's crazy about me. I can wrap her around my little finger. Let's drive over there now. You'll see. She'll accept you as a daughter if I ask her to."
Sali laughed mockingly. I kept talking fast. Somehow I convinced her.
Still worried about the apartment rent, I made a down payment. Then Sali and I headed northeast in my car, toward my folks' place.
When we arrived, she insisted on waiting outside in my parked car until I could assure her that she was welcome.
* * *
Mother and Dad were at the table, eating, when I came into the house. Facing the actuality of them, my knees were watery with fear. I stood in the kitchen doorway with my hands clenched at my sides. I said like a kid, "Mother, I love Sali. I've asked her to marry me. She's outside in my car. May I bring her in?"
Mother put her fork down. "Paul," she said, "you must be out of your mind."
"She's good and wonderful and she loves me. I'm hurting her and you and myself because I can't have her the way things are. And now she won't marry me unless my family accepts her."
"Sit down, dear. You're shaking."
I obeyed and sat on a step-stool by the stove.
Mother said, "I understand how you feel. She has you under a spell. It will pass, dear. Give it time. Stay away from her."
Dad chimed in, "She's not right for you, son."
"You don't know that. You don't know her at all. You both just saw her once, just once, and bang, you made up your minds. Please, will you meet her? Will you let me bring her in here so you can talk to her and see how fine she really is?"
"Dear, it would do no good for us to meet her again. I frankly don't think I want her in my house. The girl is-"
"Please?"
Mother continued, "The girl is a slut, dear. Besides, you could do a lot worse than to marry Sharon Howe."
I was dead tired of fighting. "All right, Mother, Dad," I said. I stood up. "I'll tell her she can't come in. Look for me when you see me. Thanks for everything-and nothing."
I stumbled out, told Sali what had happened. In rage and shame, I drove her back to the beach.
Saturday night and Sunday were a blur. I stayed at the beach-I think I was drunk-I crossed Harley's path somewhere and somebody broke up our fight. Late Sunday, I turned in at Chuck's pad and washed up enough to show for work on Monday.
Work was good for me. By Monday night, I felt almost human again.
16
MONDAY AFTER work, I drove to my folks' house. I had to fill my gas tank again. I was left with only three dollars. I had blown the rest of my paycheck in two days-a sign that I was even more incompetent than my mother suggested.
When I pulled up at the curb, Mother was in the front yard picking weeds from the lawn. She straightened without a smile and watched me come toward her.
"Mother-I'm sorry I yelled at you." I could not meet her eyes.
"Is that all you have to say?"
"No. You were right about everything. I'm sorry."
"Oh, Paul." She stood on tiptoe and pecked my cheek. "You know I forgive you. You were upset and half crazy. I can't really blame you. You didn't mean it."
I was in her good graces again, only for the asking. "Are you finally free of that girl? What are you going to do about that expensive apartment? The thing for you to do is to tell the man where you work that you prefer to live in your home town. Ask if he knows of a good job he could recommend for you here. I'm sure he'd understand. I'm sure if I drove in and talked to him and explained."
"My god, Mother-"
"-that your place is here with us, he would understand."
I looked at her, imprisoned and secure as she was in her unchangeable skull-and for the first time in my life, it occurred to me that she could be handled. Not as a reasonable person-never that-but as an unreasonable one. If politicians could appeal to her prejudices, if hucksters could sell her junk, I should be able to sell her, too.
I said in a kindly tone, "Before you go see my boss, Mother, I'd like you to talk to Sharon's father. He happens to be fairly pleased that I'm with Boll's outfit."
She looked instantly ten years younger.
"Really, Paul? Do you think the Howes-if I asked them for dinner, would they come?"
"I think so," I said. "Want me to check with them first?"
She clasped her hands like a child. "No-I mean, yes. You call, I'll talk to Sharon's mother and extend an invitation. Oh, what lovely people. So successful. And the six of us can talk everything over."
I patted her shoulder. "Easy does it. I'll talk to them this week, okay? Meanwhile, you can see this is no time for me to throw over a job. And how about supper tonight? I'm starved."
Mother nodded, for once putty in my hands. If you knew what buttons to push, she could be operated like a machine-something I had learned in trying to elevate Sharon, a similar female stuffed shirt.
"Speaking of Sharon," she said, "she kept calling yesterday all day. You'd better give her a ring."
When I called Sharon's house her mother told me she was still at school, at a late science class.
My mother said, "Go call for her. Meet her and drive her home, take her out to dinner. Then ask the Howes for later this week."
"I'm broke, Mother," I admitted.
She nodded. "I knew you would be. That terribly expensive apartment." She went into her bedroom and came out with a handful of money. "Here. If you need more, all you have to do is ask."
I drove away from the house five minutes later with fifty dollars in my wallet.
I parked in the student car lot and walked across the campus to a three-story classroom building. I had to wait ten minutes for classes to let out, Sharon came through the doors with an ugly, husky letterman, laughing, talking, smiling. But as soon as I reached them, he was nowhere with her. Sharon's eyes widened.
She said, "Paul, what are you doing here?"
"I came to drive you home," I explained.
"I'm driving her home, buddy," the ugly letterman said. She quickly put him off.
"That was very nice of you, Hank-but Paul is somebody special to me. I'll see you in class tomorrow."
Hank scowled. "What about our date tonight?" She pressed his arm, not even looking at him. "Call me in an hour," she said. She moved beside me. We walked away, leaving him at the doorway. Sharon was ebullient.
"Did you notice? He was jealous." She gave me her books to carry. "He never would have cared before. But now I'm a more interesting person, thanks to you. What made you call for me? Where were you yesterday? I held the whole day open for you."
"I'm sorry. I was moving into an apartment."
I had done other things as well, which I omitted describing.
"Can I see it? Is it nice? Why don't we drive over tonight so you can show me the place?"
"All right. We can go right away if you want. You can cook us dinner and show me how good a wife you'd make."
Sharon smiled archly. "Are you talking about something besides cooking?"
"I hadn't thought about it, but now that you mention it-"
"Paul, you've got a nasty mind."
She squeezed my arm.
I said patiently, "You have got to stop equating sex with nastiness. Do you want people to think you're illiterate?"
An hour and fifteen minutes later I shifted a bag of groceries to my right arm and dug my apartment key from my pocket.
Sharon said, looking at the hall carpeting, "This is a neat building."
I opened the door and gestured, "Enter, blonde princess."
"You're a nut." She walked in and gasped. "Can you really afford this? How do you manage?"
"I sell my girl friends into slavery."
I was proud of the place. I took the groceries into the kitchen and put them away. I heard Sharon go into the bathroom, then into the bedroom.
I found her sitting on the wide bed. I said, "Lie on it. Try it for size."
"Oh, no, don't get ideas." She stood and ran her hand along the dresser. "You need another chair in here, over by the closet. Something in chintz."
"Chintz? No, thank you."
"It's too hard and masculine here. Same way in the living room. You should soften the decor, make it more colorful."
"I've got my own ideas."
"You should replace those drapes. Get a big print of a classical painting for the paneled wall. That would be distinguished."
"What a square you are," I carped. "I'm going to save up a few bucks and buy some modern originals from friends at the beach. They're good artists."
She tapped her fingers on the dresser, suddenly subdued.
"Do you visit them very often, Paul?"
"No." I went to the doorway. "How about that dinner? I'm hungry."
"In a minute." She held up something she had found on the dresser.
I recognized Sali's moonstone ring.
"Whose is this?" she asked. "Your old girl friend's?" Her eyes held a look of panic. "Do you love her, Paul, right now?"
"Not any more. She's not interested in me."
"But she's already been here. And you only moved in this weekend." Sharon unconsciously tugged her sweater down, tightening it over her fake breasts. "What about her attracts you? Is it her body? Is it sex?"
I said impatiently, "Partly. It's all over, anyway, between us."
"I suppose she does things in bed no decent girl will do."
"I don't want to talk about it. Why don't you start dinner? I'll find some good music on the radio."
Sharon dropped the subject for half an hour while she broiled our steaks and heated frozen peas.
We began eating. I discovered that Sharon was no better a cook than I was, which made her mediocre. But she had tried hard.
She said, "I'd like to meet her, just to see what she's like. She must have something."
"You don't have to be jealous of Sali." I smiled. "You have something, too."
"Something you could fall in love with?"
"You bet."
Sharon looked very pretty. I had turned off all but one light in the living room. We were seated in the kitchen alcove.
In that moment, Sharon could have been my bride. Sali and the beach crowd were behind me.
"Did I cook your steak all right?"
"Fine."
Actually the steak had been overdone but a bride is supposed to be only a learner. The salad dressing had too much vinegar for my taste. As it happened, Sali had cooked like an angel-
I had to wipe out the memory.
Sharon asked, "What are we going to do after we're finished eating?"
"I'd like to sit on the sofa and listen to music. Talk, kiss, maybe plan a few things."
"That's wolf talk. You're thinking of that big bed. I shudder to think what Daddy would say if he knew I was alone in your apartment with you. He-likes you, but-there's a limit."
"Is there?"
"I'm not like your beach girl. You know that. But if you want me to be like her-if that's what it takes-Paul, I want to live here with you. As your wife."
"We'll see," I said.
But I knew damned well the matter was settled.
"If the rent turns out too much, Daddy would be glad to help us out."
"We'll discuss it later," I said.
We finished dinner, did the dishes and settled on the living room sofa. Sharon sat close to me.
She said, "After a while-could we go out? There's a show I'd like to see."
"Maybe." I drew her closer, kissed her. Her lips were as cold as fear. She asked, "Do I kiss as well as Sali?"
"You're different. You take longer to get interested."
"Well, I'm not a nympho." She frowned. "I don't dare let myself go-certainly not here."
"I'm not planning to take advantage of you. I think this business of your being so dangerously passionate is a big line."
Helpless tears came into her eyes. "All right-so I act a little. So do you. A person has a right."
"When a guy's thinking of marriage he-likes to know what he's to get."
Sharon brooded.
"Paul, what if I let you go all the way--and you found you didn't like me?"
"I'd like you," I said, "beyond the shadow of a doubt."
"You're sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
"That's wonderful, Paul." She presented her mouth for kissing. The kiss lasted a long time and her lips turned warm and soft. She leaned back in my arms and whispered, "I'm going to let you."
This time my kiss meant business. I put my hands on her and into her. She made small complaining noises in her throat, short "No!! ! " sounds that probably were habit. But she let me unbutton her blouse, unhook her bra.
When I had her bra half off, she said, "Turn the light out, please."
I crossed the room to the switch. She used the time to fold her blouse on the far arm of the sofa. Her bra hung away from her sagging small breasts.
I had to feel my way back to the sofa. My hand touched her thigh and groin.
"Naughty," she said as though I had pushed a button. But she cuddled to me and whispered, "Do you really love me?"
"I love you," I said. After that I had free access to her spirit as well as her body. We kissed continually, feverishly. She seemed to catch fire.
In the darkness her naked breasts became Sali's breasts, her thighs Sali's thighs, her hot mouth Sali's mouth. In my panting excitement I almost forgot who she was.
At one point, Sharon went rigid. An icy knowledge came to me-she was the first virgin I had ever taken.
From there on, her passion was like her cookingshe tried but she was only an amateur.
I would have much to teach her.
Beneath me, pinned to the couch by my body, she had started to weep.
I said, "Don't-"
I almost said, Don't cry, Sali....
At this hell of a moment for an interruption, someone rang my doorbell. Sharon uttered a little scream. My lust, such as it was, collapsed and ended.
I whispered to Sharon, "Keep still. Whoever is there will go away in a minute."
But while we hastily pulled our clothes in order, the doorbell sounded again. Not knowing which was the wiser course, to answer or ignore the bell, I decided on the former.
Sali, more beautiful than ever, stood in the doorway.
She started to say dispassionately, "I only came for my ring-"
She saw Sharon.
I knew Sali's temper from the past, its sudden flare-up and equally sudden ending. As far as I was concerned, her temper had never been a problem.
But I had never seen my kitten turn to a tiger before tonight. At sight of Sharon Sali seemed to forget that she no longer wanted any part of me. She went for Sharon like a demoniacal being.
In a low keening voice that was more terrifying than a shrill one would have been, she said to Sharon's face, "You stinking little gyp. Get out of Paul's apartment."
Sharon was unequal to this kind of battle. She squealed, "Paul, don't let her hurt me."
I stepped between the two girls, getting clawed in the process. Sali was in deadly, murderous earnest.
And, seeing her that way about me, so was I.
The old longing would never die.
I finally held the girls, one hand firmly on the shoulders of each, forcing them apart. Sali tried to move forward, Sharon was cringing back.
"Listen-" I made myself heard. "Leave her alone, Sali. She's nothing to me, do you hear? She's only a square kid who egged me on, who tried to trick me into marrying her. If you still want me, you don't have to fight."
The fight seemed to be over as soon as I had spoken.
"All right, then," Sali said. "Throw her out of here and I'll forget I ever saw her. like I said, I came for my ring."
Sharon said, "I think I'm going to faint."
She sagged to the couch. But for a moment I had no time for her. Sali had come back.
I begged Sali, "Say you mean it. Say you'll marry me now."
She took a deep breath. "You can thank your square little friend. Rather than see another woman get you, I'll marry you myself."
The thing between her and Sharon was instant hate. I had to send for a taxi to send my weeping college girl home. Sali wouldn't hear of my driving here there.
I felt bad about that part and said so. Even though it was wonderful to be with Sali again, just the two of us-forever the two of us.
"She was just a kid," I said. "She'd never had a man before."
"She asked for what she got," Sali said firmly. She went to the kitchen and started making coffee, strong the way I like it. "I know her kind and all their rotten tricks. They claim to be so good-but they're really stinking selfish. I love you, Paul. I'm going to take good care of you. You don't need any silly inexperienced girls."
Something in her tone was chillingly familiar. I turned and looked at her profile as she bent over the kitchen range. She reminded me of someone else, she had always reminded me of someone else....
Sali was talking about Sharon as my mother had talked about Sali.
For a terrible instant I remembered Vi Patterson's telling me to choose the college girl-hell, if Sharon was only a kid, what was I?
The instant passed. The thought was too horrible to face, that I had escaped from prison to prison, that in some new and adult way I was back in my mother's kitchen, being babied and spoiled and stifled.
This was Sali. I loved her. The sweetness of her body, the aptness of her cooking, would comfort me for life. Once we were married, we would have to be accepted. Sali, as she looked these days, backed by that temper of hers, could go wherever she liked. Even my mother would have cringed before her.
She served the coffee, started straightening out my clothes closet. Going through my wallet, she noticed how little money I had.
"You'd be smart," she said, "to let me handle your paycheck. It's the only way in the world you'll ever be a rich man."
"Yes, dear," I said.
Outside in the darkness, a beautiful girl was moving away from me at the speed of light, which is also the speed of time. Sali as I had dreamed she was, Sharon as she might have become-Vi in her great kindness-only the names were different now, because the dream was over.
Sali went on talking, planning.
I never heard the words. I was listening for the last notes of music as the song came to an end.
Maybe, like my father, I could learn to care for flowers.
