Boys and Girls Together: A Novel
Page 56
Jenny stepped away from him. “You don’t know what it’s for, do you?”
“No.”
“I’m really hurt.” She turned away.
“You’re a rotten actress.”
“I’m not a rotten actress!” Jenny whirled on him. “It so happens I’m hurt and the reason I’m hurt is that today is the first month anniversary of our confusion and I got you a present and you forgot the whole thing.” She began to pace. “And I’m sick that this means nothing to you. I’m tired of being hurt by you. I’m tired of being ignored and I’m tired of being used and hurt and forgotten and I think you might just as well turn around and leave right now because this is not going to be one of our more pleasant evenings and—”
Charley started after her, saying, “Jenny. Jenny, listen. Please listen—”
Jenny stopped and laughed and kissed him on the mouth. “Call me a rotten actress, will you?”
Charley looked at her.
“Had you going, didn’t I? Just remember something: I have acted on the Broadway stage.” She gestured dramatically. “Of course, it was just understudy rehearsal and the theater was empty. But technically, I acted on the stage. My feet rested on the floor. So there, unbeliever.”
Charley took her, lifted her, held her in the air. “If you think this is easy, you’re crazy.”
“I know. I’m a moose. You’ll break your back.”
“Happy anniversary, Moose.” He kissed her, put her down.
“Do you know something? I feel brazen around you and I love it! I feel like the most brazen—ordinarily I’m so timid I make me sick. Sometimes—sometimes I wake up and I think, don’t be timid today, Jenny, old kid. Let the world have it right between the eyes today, Jenny, old kid. But then, when I get outside I think, well, maybe I’ll let the world have it right between the eyes tomorrow instead. Aren’t you even going to open your present?”
Charley began unwrapping the package.
“Wait. Don’t you want to give me your present first?”
“Huh?”
“Your anniversary present to me.”
“I didn’t get—”
“I know what I want. You can still give it to me. Right now. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“Spend the night.”
Charley looked at her.
“Just this once.”
“I can’t. You know that.”
“Please.”
“Impossible.”
“Sometimes you’re such a churl. Isn’t that a great word? I just love it. I work in a publishing house. That’s how come I have this fantastic vocabulary. Aren’t you going to open your present?”
“You told me to wait.”
“Since when do you do what I tell you? I just told you to spend the night and you wouldn’t.”
“Minx.” He took off the red bow and shook the package. “Should I be able to guess?”
“I hope not. Charley? Before you see, I’ve got to explain, because it wasn’t easy, getting you something, on account of our confusion. I mean, I wanted to get you something sweet, of course, but I couldn’t get you something permanent, because then people might ask you questions about—”
“I understand. I do.”
“All right then. Open it.”
Charley opened it. “For crissakes,” he said. “A Hershey bar.”
“See? Sweet but not perm—”
“I get it, I get it.”
“Do you like it?”
“I like it.”
“Do you like me?”
“I like you.”
“Then why won’t you spend the night?”
“No.”
“She wouldn’t mind. Not for one night.”
“No.”
“Call her up and tell her.”
“What should I tell her?”
“Lie.”
“Jenny—”
“Charley, she wouldn’t suspect anything. Just fib a little this once—”
“I would like to. You know that. But don’t ask me. Please. Forget it.”
“Forgotten. Aren’t you going to eat your anniversary present?”
Charley sat down on the bed and took a bite of the Hershey bar.
“I spent eons getting ready for tonight. You might at least tell me how pretty I am or something.”
Charley looked at her. She was wearing a white blouse and a white striped skirt and white high-heeled shoes. “How pretty you are,” he said quietly. “How lucky I am. How pretty you are.”
She smiled and slowly walked across the room until she stood in front of where he sat. Gently she reached out, put her arms around his neck, brought him close until his head rested on her breast.
He kissed her there.
“Charley is my darling,” Jenny whispered.
He kissed her again. Then he locked his arms around her waist and leaned back onto the bed, bringing her down on top of him.
“I love it when you touch me,” Jenny whispered.
“Isn’t that nice.” He kissed her on the mouth and when they broke he could hear her breathing, and with his eyes closed he touched her body and kissed her again, harder this time, harder and longer, and this time when they broke his own breathing was what he heard and he reached out for her again but she was gone. “Come back here,” Charley whispered.
Jenny walked slowly around the room.
“What’s the matter?”
She made a fanning motion. “It’s so hot,” she muttered.
“C mere.”
Jenny shook her head. “Not now. I’m just stifling. It’s too hot, Charley.”
“Hot? It’s a cool September evening, now—”
“You must have cold blood, then. Or warm, which is it? It’s too hot for me, I know that much.”
“What are you talking about? Come back here.”
She walked back to him.
He took her in his arms.
“Too hot,” she said. “Just like I thought.” She walked away again and slowly, starting at the throat, she began to unbutton her white blouse.
Charley watched in silence as she pulled the blouse out from her skirt and slid it down her arms. Her bra was very white against her skin. For a moment she cupped her hands beneath her breasts. Charley cleared his throat. “Please come here,” he said.
Jenny unzipped her skirt, guided it down across her hips, let it fall into a circle around her long legs. “That’s a lot more comfortable,” she said. “I love it when your legs get tanned. You don’t have to bother with stockings or a girdle or anything like that.” She took a few long steps toward him. “See?” She ran the tips of her fingers down along her legs. “Bare.”
Charley stared at her. She was wearing the bra and a white half slip and petti-pants and the white-heeled shoes. “Just exactly what is it you think you’re doing?”
“Getting comfortable, that’s all. You get comfortable too, if you want. Take off your shirt. This heat is terrible.”
“It’s not hot.”
“Maybe late tonight it won’t be.”
“Jenny, I can’t spend the night, so quit this.”
“Quit what? I don’t understand you.”
“You can’t blackmail me. I’ve got to go home.”
“Of course you do.” Jenny walked to her dresser and splashed on some cologne. “You said you loved cologne. So do I. I always feel so much cooler when I’m wearing cologne.”
“Jenny, I’ve got to go home.”
She blew him a kiss. “Bye-bye,” she said.
Charley stared at her, saying nothing.
Jenny unhooked her bra.
Charley shook his head.
Slowly, Jenny slipped the straps off her arms, managing to hold the body of the bra in place, first with one hand, then the other. Then, even more slowly, she began to raise the white half slip, an inch at a time, until it barely covered her breasts. Then she removed her bra, carefully, concentrating on the action. Done, she held it out full
length, flipped it around a finger, let it fall. A moment later she was naked, except for the white high-heeled shoes and the white half slip clinging to the tops of her breasts.
Charley shook his head and said, “I’ll stay.”
“Call her.”
“Come here.”
“Call her.”
“Later.”
“Now.”
He stood, started walking toward her. “You don’t trust me.”
Hands on hips, she awaited him. “That’s right.”
He touched her.
But only for a moment. “Call her.”
Charley dropped his arms to his sides.
“That’s better,” Jenny said.
Charley turned, went back to the bed, sat, reached for the phone. “Don’t you think you might want to wait in the kitchen?”
“No.”
“If I asked you to?”
Jenny snuggled up beside him.
Charley shook his head, picked up the phone. After he’d spoken to the operator he said, “Be quiet now. I mean it.”
“Not a peep,” Jenny whispered. “He means it.”
As soon as he heard Betty Jane’s voice, Charley closed his eyes and said, “This is Alfred A. Knopf.”
“Hello there, old Alfred A.,” Betty Jane replied.
Jenny began to take off Charley’s tie.
Charley looked at her, tried pushing her hands away. “Sorry I’m so late calling.”
“That’s all right,” Betty Jane said.
Jenny got the tie undone.
“When are you getting home?” Betty Jane said.
“That’s what I’m calling about. I’ve got to stay in town tonight. But I’ll be home tomorrow. Early.”
Jenny had his shirt half unbuttoned.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Betty Jane said.
Charley pulled at Jenny’s fingers.
Jenny slapped his hands, put a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” she whispered.
“Honey, I’m in a pay phone.”
“I didn’t mean on the phone, Charley.”
Jenny pulled his shirt out from his trousers, slipped it down his arms.
Charley closed his eyes again. “Great. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Jenny ran the tips of her fingers across his chest.
Charley sat very still, eyes shut tight. “Tomorrow,” he said again.
“I was sort of hoping—”
“I can’t make it home tonight.”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter. We haven’t talked in a while, Charley.”
Jenny fought with his belt, got it open, quietly unzipped his trousers.
“Charley?”
“What?”
“Why can’t you make it home?”
Jenny knelt beside the bed and tried untying his shoes.
“I’m sorry, didn’t I tell you? Rudy. Miller. God, I’m sorry. But I’m going down to see Rudy tonight. You know how late those sessions go.”
Jenny muttered “darn” as she pulled one of the laces into a knot. Standing, she put her hands on his trouser tops.
“Did you know you were going to see Rudy tonight?”
“I never know when I’m going to see him. He just appears sometimes; you know that. He did today.”
“How is Rudy?”
“He looks to be in excellent health.”
Jenny tugged at his pants and drawers, pulling them down his legs, snarling them momentarily around his shoes.
“Ask him why he hasn’t run off with me. Tell him I’m waiting.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Why can’t you come home, Charley, after you see Rudy?”
“Because there’s no way to get to Princeton once it’s late unless you want me to taxi. That’s thirty-five dollars. Do you want me to taxi?”
“No. I’ll see you tomorrow. Early, you said.”
“Early.”
Jenny tugged at the clothes, finally pulling them around his shoes and off.
“Bye, honey,” Charley said.
“Don’t you want to ask about Robby?”
“Of course I do. God. How’s Robby?”
“Fine. Goodbye, Charley.”
Jenny took the phone from Charley and dropped it in its cradle. She sat in his lap and kissed him. “Hey,” she said. “It’s me. Open your eyes.” She reached out, took his hand, cupped it around her breast.
The hand dropped away.
“Clumsy,” Jenny said.
“Get up. Please.”
“You’re mad.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Don’t be.”
“What the hell were you trying to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want her to find out?”
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
“To turn off the light.”
“Leave it on.”
“You’re still mad.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want me.”
“I don’t know.”
“I want you.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I only wanted to excite you.”
“I was excited.”
“Aren’t you anymore?”
“No.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Yes.”
“Charley—”
“Shut up. Take off that thing.”
“The slip?”
“Take it off.”
“It’s off.”
“Yes. I can see.”
“You know what’s silly?”
“What’s silly?”
“We’ve both still got our shoes on.”
“Yes. That is silly. Turn off the light.”
“Done.”
They ran toward each other in the darkness.
Charley woke, groped for the time, found it was three, dressed. He kissed Jenny, left Jenny, checked his wallet, got a cab. At home, in the dark house, Betty Jane was weeping. When she was able, they chatted a while.
Jenny looked up from her desk. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Charley said. He hesitated a moment, then continued on into his office and shut the door.
Jenny stretched and looked around. Picking up a pencil and dictation pad, she looked around again and stood, moving to the office door. She knocked once, immediately entered, crossing the room quickly, sitting in the chair alongside the desk. Jenny straightened her skirt. Then she licked her pencil point. Then she opened her dictation pad to a blank page and stared down at it. “Boy, are you in trouble.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t count.”
“What doesn’t?”
“You promised overnight, you’ll stay overnight. You left. So it doesn’t count.”
“I see.”
“Churl.”
He nodded.
“Miss Devers is, as they say, ‘put out.”
“I don’t blame her.”
“Was she snoring or something?”
He made a smile. “No.”
“You didn’t even leave a note, Charley.”
“I know.”
“I think the least you could have done—oh, oh dear.”
“What?”
“I just realized—something’s the matter.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“You look like death warmed over. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We’ll talk about it later.”
“If nothing’s the matter, what’s there to talk about?”
“Nothing. Just like I said. Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Later.”
“When later?”
“I don’t know. Just not now.”
“Why not now?”
“Isn’t that kind of obvious?”
“No.”
“ I want to know. Now.”
“Will you please try and understand that I’m a little upset too—”
“How did she do it?”
“Do what?”
“ Find out.”
“About us?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t. She hasn’t. She doesn’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Did she threaten to divorce you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what did she say?”
“I told you, lower—”
“I want to know what she said.” Jenny stood up.
“I’ll tell you, dammit, but that isn’t—”
“Lying bitch.”
“Jenny—”
“Tell me.”
“Not now.”
“Aspirin!” Archie Wesker cried as he staggered through the door.
Charley whirled.
“Aspirin! Aspirin!”
“Archie, what the hell—”
“Little drink-’em-up last night. The old head’s not so good today. I was out of aspirin at home—the bottle in my desk’s empty too.”
“Well, I haven’t any.”
“You got to.”
“I haven’t.”
“The whole goddam world’s out of aspirin!” Archie slammed the door behind him.
“Betty Jane’s pregnant,” Charley said.
Jenny sat down.
Charley started to say something, managed to stutter over a syllable, then quit while he was behind.
“Is she positive?”
“Apparently.”
“How far along is she?”
When Charley answered he said, “About a month.”
“A month?”
Charley nodded.
“One month?” She looked straight at him. “Aren’t you the busy little bee?”
“Aye”
“Forget I said that.” She started shaking her head, back and forth, back and forth.
“Are you all right?”
“What do you mean, ‘Am I all right’? Do you mean am I going to fall down and die? I’ll survive. It’s just—it’s a surprise. It could be a lot worse. I’ll admit I’m surprised and all, but I’m all right, I’m ... fine, Charley, I’m going to cry.” And suddenly she was. She sat bowed in the chair, her hands clasped in the folds of her black skirt, shaking her head, trying to talk as the tears dropped, spotting her white hands. The spasm built, peaked, abruptly dried. “I wonder what that was,” Jenny said when it was over. She wiped her eyes. “No, I know. When you wouldn’t tell me what it was, I got so frightened. Then, when you told me, I just thought, ‘Oh, is that all.’ And then I realized that what you’d said was the worst thing you could say, because now we’re over and everything’s a waste.”