When she woke, she was next to Caine. It seemed to be a different room, but she wasn’t sure. Her arms and legs were free. She got up, went to the bathroom, and found a bottle of bourbon. She drank, and went to sleep. In the morning, Caine fucked her for a few hours, and they lounged in bed.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she said.
“I was under the assumption you enjoyed variety,” he said.
“Not like that,” she said. She asked, “Did you like watching?”
“Yes,” he said. “I wish to arrange one more get-together,” Caine said. “Nothing extreme. Very ordinary.”
“All right,” she said.
That night, they went to a speakeasy Caine had the clout to enter. He wanted her to dress like a flapper, and wear her Egyptian hairpiece, and she did. She held his arm as they entered, and she noticed the eyes on her – the young woman with the older man. She didn’t like it at all. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t like the eyes. They sat at a table and ordered drinks. There was a jazz band on stage. She liked the music. She could get good and drunk and dance, like she always did. She needed to get away from Caine. She’d been in his company for almost a month.
Caine spotted two men he knew at a table. They were well-dressed, in their thirties, hair slicked back, guns under their jackets.
“You’ll fuck them tonight,” he told her, “and it’ll be nothing like you’ve ever experienced.”
He went to talk to them.
The whole time they’d been here, Elizabeth had been aware of a young man in snappy suit at the bar, his eyes on her. She immediately went to him.
“Buy me a drink,” she said.
“Okay,” he said.
“Martini. Vodka, shaken, olive.”
The young man waved to the bartender.
She downed the drink, fast.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Gregory,” he said.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“What?”
“Gregory,” she said.
“What?” he said.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
He seemed confused.
“Don’t you want to take me out of here?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Well,” she said.
They left, and got into his Model T, and drove.
“You were using me,” he said.
“Everyone uses everyone,” she said.
“I saw you come in with that man.”
“I saw you eyeballing me.”
“You needed to get away,” he said.
“So what?” she said.
“Sooooooo what?” he said, laughing. “You look very familiar. What’s your name?”
“I don’t have a name.”
“I’ve seen you before.”
“It’s the clothes, the hairpiece, the white make-up,” she said. “You see me everywhere in this city.”
“I know you,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” she said.
They drove.
“So what’s next?” he said.
“You have a place?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You want to take me there?”
“Yes,” he said.
Gregory was twenty-five, a Yale grad, and a stockbroker – she learned this during the drive to his uptown apartment. He was successful, up-and-coming, making money. America was in good shape, and the economy was getting better and better each day, and he was making more and more money every day, as were many people.
“It won’t last,” she said.
“It’ll last forever,” he said.
He took her into his apartment, and they had a drink. He took her to the bedroom, they kissed and undressed, and he fucked her on his unmade bed. It was fast and rough. He put himself into her before she was ready, and it hurt, but he didn’t last long. He lit a cigarette and they lay there. He got up, went to the bathroom, and when he came back, he said, “Your name is Elizabeth.”
She was adjusting her hairpiece. “What?”
“I know you,” he said, “Elizabeth. You used to be Roland’s girl.”
She felt cold.
“Right?” he asked.
She said, “How do you know Roland?”
“He was a classmate of mine! You were always with him. You don’t remember me?”
“No,” she said, feeling funny.
“Well, we only met a few times. But I remember you.”
“Okay,” she said, “so you know me.”
“You were in love with Roland. That’s what he said. You were engaged, I think.”
“What is your point?” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened to Roland was tragic.”
“Oh,” she said.
“I wanted to go, too. The war. Yes, I did. But my parents wouldn’t hear of it. I should’ve gone,” he said.
“Good for you,” she said.
“I shudder thinking what his days are like,” Gregory said, sitting on the bed. “I have no idea what a life like that must mean. He had so much promise.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she said.
Gregory was stroking himself, smiling. “What?”
“What his days are like?” she said. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you ever wonder?”
“What?”
“How he lives?”
“He doesn’t live!” she cried. “He’s dead!”
He stared at her. “My God,” he said.
“WHAT?”
“You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“You really don’t know,” he said. “I heard you –”
“What? Know what?”
“I’m horny,” Gregory said. “You want to go at it again?”
She hit him in the face.
The next day, she took the train to New Hampshire, and a taxi to the home of the young man she’d once loved. A servant answered, and Elizabeth declared herself. Roland’s mother came to the door.
“My dear girl,” the older woman said, “it has been some time. It’s nice to –”
“Let me in,” Elizabeth said.
“I knew one day you would come,” she said. “I feared –”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?”
“I want to see Roland.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do!”
“Listen, dear girl,” Roland’s mother said. “Your parents and I decided not to tell you. Not at first. We were going to. Then you became wayward, and you disappeared. Elizabeth, honey, your mother and father are worried about you. Call them, right now.”
“I want to see Roland,” Elizabeth said.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“I implore you,” Roland’s mother said.
“Why was I lied to?” Elizabeth asked.
“I will take you to him,” Roland’s mother said. “They say he can hear, but I’m never certain. He cannot talk to you, he cannot see you. He cannot touch you, or even kiss you. He may hear you. But what you will see – I could never prepare you . . .”
“We were going to be married,” Elizabeth said. She was crying. She said, “He was my love. He was to be my husband. We were going to have children. Goddamn you, you witch, take me to my love!”
“Forgive me,” Roland’s mother said. “Forgive us all.”
They went upstairs, and stopped at a door.
“I give you one last chance to turn away,” the mother said.
“What happened to him?”
“He walked on a land mine in Belgium. It was war, my dear. A very stupid war.”
Elizabeth entered the room, and closed the door behind her. The room was very white. On a bed lay what remained of Roland. It was a body, with no legs and one arm. The body had no discernible face – traces of what used to be a mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. The body twitched, hearing her, m
aybe smelling her. Whatever this was, she knew it was Roland. She just knew.
“Roland,” she said, “it’s me: Elizabeth.”
The body twitched.
She sat on the edge of the bed, and the body made more movements.
“I’ve come back,” she said.
She looked out the window and saw two sparrows in a nest, in the tree that loomed over this bedroom.
“They told me you were dead,” she said.
She pulled the covers away from him. He still had a penis. She took it in her hand, and it grew hard.
“I’m not the same girl you knew,” she said, “but I know more things. I can make you very comfortable and happy.”
She got into the bed and lay next to him, stroking his penis. The body twitched like crazy, and the one arm reached over and gently touched her hair.
“Hush, my dear,” she said, kissing the non-existent lips on what had once been the face of a bright young man.
They made love – their bodies – in a way left only to your imagination; and they went to sleep, which was, for Elizabeth abysmal and full of dreams.
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