Gould (3 page)

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, New York. And I don't plan to settle there and neither does he. He's a law student and can get a job anywhere after, so long as he takes that state's bar,” and he said “How old's this guy?” and she said “Twenty-four, why?” and he said “Oh boy, older men, real experienced, I bet he's had lots of girls—lots of counselors—it's probably even why he took the job. Mr. Head Authority, lording it over his slaves; tells them to go down on him or they lose their puny jobs, and they do, the imbeciles, they're too young and dumb not to. But good, you finally got someone who can teach you something about life, though whether you'll like the lesson after a while—” and she said “You're being asinine again. And about him teaching me anything, I'm not sure what you're referring to, but if it's what I think it is then you're not only a big schmo but,” and she whispered this, “a pathetic jerk,” and hung up. He called right back and the man who answered said she was already halfway down the hill and he said “Well get her back right away. It's about her father, something new,” and she came back and said “Yes?” and he said “It's me again,” and she said “No kidding. What is it, though? I had to come back, just so they wouldn't think I was having an argument with someone—this is the camp office, you know—or that I'd ignore something about my father being ill,” and he said “I called back, well, to apologize; seriously, I do. I'm sorry, I am a big schmo and jerk and probably even worse,” and she said “Fine, you know it, and I accept your apology. But oh gosh, you can be awful when you get mean,” and he said “You're right, thoroughly and incontrovertibly, and I won't get that way anymore, I swear not to, but we will get back together again, if just a little, when we're back in the city—we'll at least give it a shot, won't we?” and she said “No, and that's final,” and he said “All right, it was nice and you were great and we really went through something with that a.b.—you, most of it—and which I'll never forget and I think it linked us in some way forever,” thinking maybe at hearing all that she'll think of what they did go through and how he went to the doctor's with her and paid half and everything and change her mind about not seeing him again, and she said “Yes, me too,” and hung up. He called her in New York a couple of times, her mother said she wasn't home and she'd give her the message, but she never called back.

The second time was also in New York. He met her at a party she came to with a friend of his, she seemed to be interested in him just by her occasional glances his way, he signaled her to meet him in the kitchen and said there “Look, I'd love to get your number and call you up sometime but you go out with a guy I know, or at least you came in with him, so that's a problem, isn't it?” and she said “We're really just good friends,” and he said “You don't sleep with him?” and she said “Who said that's your business? And if we did we could still just be good friends, couldn't we? but like to sleep with each other, even though I'm not saying that's the situation with Tim and me,” and he said “So then maybe we could see each other one time,” and she said “It's okay with me and I don't think Tim will mind too much; I'll ask him,” and he said “Maybe I should,” and she said “Better if I do; he might get mad at you for horning in and then there could be a row; I'll put it in a way you wouldn't be able to,” and he said “How's that?” and she said “I'll say ‘I flashed on this guy, Tim, and he happens to be someone you know. He doesn't want to have anything to do with me because of that, but that's not what I want, so what do you say, Tim, will you mind very much if I see him while seeing you too?'” and he said “I don't know how I like that arrangement, you seeing him one day, me the next, maybe even some other guy you flash on being a third, and so on,” and she said “What's the matter, you want everything? You don't even know me, so you have no hold. And Tim's my friend and if it happened where I started sleeping with you, what'll be the harm that I also sometimes sleep with him? I knew him first and who's to say I won't always like him more than you and also like sleeping with him more? But, you know, if it turned out that you're the only guy I want to sleep with, then that's how it'll be. That is, if we do end up sleeping together, for that's not why I'm interested in you, I want you to know,” and he said “I won't ask why; that'd be too self-serving, I suppose,” and she said “I already told you: we flashed on each other and the outlook appears bright,” and he said “Then good, I'm glad; I also realize that isn't all there is, what you said,” and she said “I was wondering, for a moment.” She came back with Tim about ten minutes later and Tim looked angry and said “What the hell you think you're doing, Gould?” and he said “I'm sorry, and I told her I didn't want to have anything to do with it, so what are you talking about?” and Tim said “Don't hand me that; trying to steal my girl away,” and he said “I wasn't trying to steal. We were talking, didn't she tell you?—and then, I don't know what, but nothing's happened, and you don't even want me talking to her, well, so I won't, she's all yours,” and the girl said “Oh look at you two: ‘Here, you take her'; ‘Yeah, I'll take her,' as if I was a big slab of prize beef you got cheap,” and Tim laughed and said “Only joking, you fool,” and to Gould “She flashed on you, she said; way to go, you're getting a great babe, or
woman
, I'm afraid,” bowing gallantly to her with his hand sweeping in front of him as if he had an eighteenth-century hat in it, “and there's nothing between us, right?” to her, and she said “Right,” and Gould said “Even better,” and Tim said “Not that I want you leaving with her tonight; I came with her, I escort her home,” and she said “Excuse me, I'll decide,” and Tim said “Okay, decide,” and she said “I choose to go with     .” and Tim said “Oh, go with Gould; I understand he has a shlong a mile long,” and she punched his arm and said “You beast,” and Tim said “Only joking again; he's got a matchstick that's all wet, so don't expect much for a number of reasons,” and left, and she said “What a drip he can be sometimes,” and then “Ah, now we're alone and free,” and Gould said “This is making me dizzy,” and she said “I got the cure; shut your eyes and pucker-thee-up,” and he said “Right, we haven't done anything like that yet,” and she said “So? What about it?” and he put his arms around her and they kissed and kissed again and she said “Umm, you taste sweet; Tim tasted from ugly pipe tobacco,” and after some more kissing they went inside and sat on the couch and held hands and she leaned her head back on his arm around her shoulders and kissed the fingers near her cheek once and Tim said “Look at those goofy lovebirds; so, fuck already, fuck or fly away,” and she said “Did I ask you?” and the host said “Tim, your language, will ya?” and Tim said “Ah, screw it, it's my way of grieving,” and she said “You dodo—c'mere,” and kissed him on the lips and Tim said “I guess that's the best I'm gonna get, eh?” and Gould wished it were so, wanted to love a woman he was sleeping with, but what the hell, this was second best; no, sitting here and holding her was third best; first was the whole thing, arm around her at a party and kissing and sex, and second just sleeping with a girl he liked but there was no chance of his being in love with, and she shared an apartment with another girl and was a beauty all right, the face, the neck, when he first saw her he thought she was a dancer, which had always been an attraction, and she turned out to be, with a great body, long legs, the works, hard rear and from what he could see from the bulge they made against her shirt and what he'd felt against his chest, solid breasts, but she was Negro and that was a problem but he didn't think it'd be much of one. He'd never had sex with a Negro except a whore in Harlem when he was in high school and drove up with an older friend in his friend's father's car and picked up a hooker on the street and she didn't want to drive with them to the park or somewhere because you never know, girls have got killed that way and they were afraid of going to one of the local hotels so they each in turn did it with her standing up in a little area under the stairs on the ground floor of a rundown brown-stone and a few times during it people leaving or entering the building said as they went up or down the stairs “What're you doing back there? Kids live here. Do your filthy, scummy business some other place.” They went to her apartment and she said to her roommate “This is Gould; you know, I don't even remember his last name. But a nice guy I met at the party tonight. If you're up at eight tomorrow and I'm not wake me and don't take a no; I have early rehearsal,” and they went to her room, she said “You want to wash up now, because I'm tired and want to get to bed quickly,” and he said “I don't have a toothbrush and I'd seriously like to use one,” and she said use hers, it's the pink one and told him where the bathroom was and as he went to it he passed her roommate's door, it was open a little and he could smell cigarette smoke and hear soft music, chamber, Vivaldi or Bach or one of those from the Baroque, she was a dancer and good-looking too and he thought maybe one day she might want to do a threesome with them; he'd never done it, but these two, they seem so free or unconcerned or something like that about sex and men sleeping over, so who knows if they might not go for it—it's been a fantasy of his for a while; he'll be sure to be extra nice and polite to the roommate and also but in a subtle way do what he can to be physically attractive to her and after a while hint at it to the girl. She was naked when he got back to the room and she said “Any special preference to which side of the bed you want?” and he said “Either,” and she said “Then take the left one; traditionally, I'm a smack-dab-in-the-center sleeper, but with a guy I like to be on the right,” and went to the bathroom without putting anything on. When she came back he was on top of the bed with his clothes on and she said “What are you waiting for? Oh, itty baby wants momma to undress him?” and he said “That wouldn't be so bad, though it's not essential; but first time, it would've been nice to remove each other's clothes and, you know, gradually reveal what's underneath,” and she said “That's hogwash; as you can see, what I've got underneath every girl's got—boobs, bush and cracks—unless she has one of those third nipples or something, which I don't have. Look, you just want to screw and so do I, but if you insist—next time, if there'll be one, the slow shedding of clothes and striptease, all right? Tonight, let's just get it over with, if you're not too tired—I am, almost—because I do have that early rehearsal call tomorrow, which means neither of us sleeps late.” She helped him take off his shirt, only because it got stuck around his ears, he took off his pants and shorts and they got under the covers and made love. He wanted to make love in the morning and she started to but looked at the clock and said “Oh my gosh, sorry, gotta catch a bus,” and took his hand away from her vagina and got out of bed. He saw her a couple of times a week for months and she had a number of boyfriends, she said, but she liked him most and he was her best lover too, and he said “I don't believe a word you say about that,” and she said “Really, you are, for two of the other three guys are demi-fags so they sometimes want to do it to me as if I'm a man, and that I want no part of, none. All I need is a ruptured rectum or torn sphincter, if that's what you get. Not just that it'll hurt like the devil, but try and dance with it.” Sometimes he felt self-conscious with her on the street or in a restaurant, for some reason never on movie lines or in theaters or bars or at talks. People occasionally stared, pointed them out, more like touching someone's arm and saying “Don't look to your left too quickly but there's something there I want you to see,” sometimes he's sure because she was so beautiful, and her height and figure, and she talked so dramatically, her gestures and big voice, but he knew the looks from others were also angry at times, though some people smiled at them in a way which said “Good, white and Negro can go together, they can even fall in love, it's healthy and right and important and time for that and this couple proves it can work.” But he's getting away from the point. The point's abortion. He held hands with her on the street, put his arm around her at bars, kissed in those places, did everything anywhere he would with any girl he was seeing, though he was never in love with her; they had a good time, got along well, made each other laugh, saw other partners during all this time, and then they broke up. She said she wanted something more stable, just wanted to see one man now, maybe even think of eventually marrying and having a kid or two and she for sure knew it wasn't going to be with him. She had fun with him, the sex was great, he was smart, nice-looking enough, pleasant and witty most times though too often a bit removed and cold or grim, but she didn't feel anything—what should she call it? help her out with this, he's good with words, which was another thing she liked about him and that he didn't parade it—anyway, nothing deep or just really emotional toward him, and don't kid her, he didn't for her either, so she thinks they ought to break up and without any fuss. Not “ought,” they have to, that's all; some things you don't want to take beyond their natural life spans and maybe even some things you should end while they're still pretty good so before their natural life spans are up. He said okay, he likes her but as she said he doesn't love her, though he thinks he did a few times and sometimes for days, but enough about that, and they were silent, not looking at each other, or at least he wasn't to her, as they walked to her building from the bar they'd had this talk at, and he said goodnight at the door and she said “Look, one last time won't kill us and it'll be interesting too, knowing that unless there's this tremendous sexual emergency of some kind in the future that the other one can quickly relieve, this is the last for all time,” and he said “You think there's a chance for some future thing like that, because I wouldn't mind?” and she said “No, I was really just talking, but so what.” They went to bed and in the morning he wanted to do it again and she said “Last night's was fine as a fond fare-thee-well-my-undarlinged—how do you like that one? better than even you've made—but now I'm not in the mood and don't see myself getting in it, so I wouldn't want this time to be the one I remember as the last,” and he said “Last, fast, we both have no clothes on and we're all greased up for it from last night so let's just do it, and you can get into it for a few minutes,” and she said “I mean it, don't make me think I made a mistake by suggesting the one last night, and I would have to put more gook in the diaphragm when what I want to do most is take the damn thing out.” She called him a few months later and said “How are you?” and he said “Fine, but surprised to hear from you after so long,” and she said “Uh-oh, your voice, it's so unwelcoming—so I should probably get right to it, why I called, right?” and he said “It'd be appreciated,” and she said “Well, guess what? I've gone and got myself pregnant by you, how's that for openers?” and he said “What're you talking about? I haven't seen you for three months,” and she said “That's exactly how many months pregnant I am, and I have to get an abortion now unless I want it to be an induced miscarriage or worse,” and he said “Why do you think …no, this once got me into trouble, not with you, but—oh, I'll ask it anyway, for it fits here: Why are you so sure it's mine? You were always seeing three to four other guys,” and she said “No more than three others, and because I know who I sleep with and at the time I hadn't slept with anyone for about three weeks before you. Not those fags, if that's what you're about to say; we just petted or did other things but no penetration—and nobody the weeks after you or till I skipped my regular period. It's you,” and he said “Also, which makes me curious, why'd you wait so long in telling me, if it is me who you say did it?” and she said “I thought I could take care of it myself, but I put it off too long, for reasons of my own making but which have nothing to do with you, and I now see where I need the money for the operation,” and he said “What reasons that don't have to do with me—the whole thing seems to have to do with me, am I wrong?” and she said “Boy, you're stubborn. Reasons, I'm saying; stupidity on my part, I'm saying. I don't know; that I thought I was smarter and cleverer and more capable than I am and also maybe believing that some cheap home remedies, as someone told me, would work, and which I never even got around to try, I'm so lazy—okay?” and he said “I'm still a little skeptical about this,” and she said “Does that mean you're not going to help me?” and he said “Let me think about it,” and she said “I've arranged an abortion in two days and I need help fast if you're going to help—that means money right away and it also means, if you really want to be helpful, coming with me when I go in for it,” and he said “I still have to think about it first; I'll call you tomorrow,” and she said “You were never like this, that I remember—so what happened?” and he said “We've been split up for a while, you know, so I don't have the right to be skeptical?” and she said “I don't see where the two equate. No, I'll say, you don't have the right, because haven't I always been straight-out and open with you, holding nothing back?” and he said “Yeah, I guess, but I also think I do have a reason for being at least somewhat skeptical, for who knows what could have happened with you the last three months; but I'll call tomorrow, I swear,” and she said “Fuck you then, you shithead; call nobody tomorrow as I never want to talk to your ugly snake face again,” and hung up. He didn't call and a month later got a letter from her saying “Don't ask me why I'm being so conciliatory to you in relating all this, but here goes: the good news. Everything worked out A-OK. If you want to contribute to the fund that made it this way, you can send whatever you want, although $200 would be fine and rock-bottom and quite fair. No matter what, papa is off the hook, even if he contributes zero. How's that for gracious pardons, and I don't mean the excusez-me kind. Best and much luck. Yours sincerely and honestly.” He thought why should he send her anything? It probably was some other guy who was responsible, or easily could have been. Sure, she was usually honest and direct to him, or seemed to be, but sometimes he didn't think she was telling the truth.