And festive it was by the lake in Central Park, Mary talking more and more about her husband and her discontent and disillusionment with her marriage. Harry wisely refrained from attacking her husband, which would have forced her to defend him and start talking about what was nice about him, but he did stop defending him and offering excuses and/or explanations for his conduct and lack of concern and attentions toward her. As a matter of fact he just listened, a concerned expression on his face, as Mary allowed that her husband was an asshole, a big-mouthed son of a bitch. He never, not once, has he ever sat and listened to me ... like you do—a tower-of-
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strength and understanding expression on Harrys face—he just turns on the television or walks out of the room and if I walk after him and try to make him listen to me, if I try to get him to understand that Im a human being with feelings and needs and things, he just calls me a dumb broad and goes out with the boys. Oohhhh, shaking her head agitatedly, there are times when I think I would shoot him if I had a gun.
O, you wouldnt want to do that, touching her hand solicitously, you would just go to jail and deprive me, and the rest of the world, of your company. Mary smiled at Harry, then suddenly frowned as he said he felt sorry for her husband.
Feel sorry for him? Hes the one who is always going out with the boys, who comes and goes as he pleases, who gulps down a meal I sweat to prepare, then belches in my face and leaves. Just like that. He goes, wherever he goes, no thanks, no nothin, and leaves me alone with the dishes. See if I ever slave over a stove again. Hes lucky if he gets a TV dinner.
You dont understand what I mean, patting her hand and smiling, I mean its a shame that he denies himself the extreme joy, and excitement, of listening to you, and watching the light dance in your eyes when youre excited.
O, do you really mean that, that its exciting to listen to me?
Of course, chuckling and looking into her eyes, why would I say it if it wasnt true?
And so the game continued, Harry getting more and more excited as he watched her excitement grow. There were times when Harrys nose seemed to twitch as he smelled a bitch in heat, and so the combination of the game he was playing, and Marys squirming struggle with herself and her neglect by her husband, made Harry aware that the game would have to end soon. Or at least this stage of it.
And then, In the Merry, Merry Month of May, except that it was June by now, Harry finally responded to a gambit by Mary. They were sitting on their bench, chatting, and Harry finished his sandwich and was crumbling the paper when Mary reached over and brushed the crumbs from his lap, spending extra time, and effort, on a persistent crumb on the upper,
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inner part of his thigh. Harry sort of chirpped inside his head, and raised his leg slightly against her hand, then put his open hand on hers, caressing it strongly as he looked deep into her eyes, his lids slightly squeezed and his nostrils just barely flared. He felt her hand twitch as the tip of his tongue just managed to squirm its way through his lips.
We cant go on like this, Mary, slowly sliding his hand off hers and reaching up with his other hand and rubbing the back of her neck. For a couple of seconds her eyes closed as she surrendered to his hand, then they opened partly as she looked at him (krist, this bitch is horny). What can we do?
Harry just stared into her eyes, enjoying the game and hoping he did not bust out laughing.
When? moving her hand against Harrys hand, Harry chuckling inside, enjoying his small victory of having her ask him. He applied a little more pressure to the nape of her neck, and her eyes rolled back for a second and her body swayed with pleasure.
Tomorrow night, after work.
She nodded her head and continued to sway with his hand. I/ll tell my husband Im going out with the girls from the office. Harry nodded, sort of tap dancing in his head, with a smile as his umbrella, and wondering what her reaction would be when he announced a change of plans tomorrow afternoon. Ah, tomorrow . . . another day, another lay ... hahahaha, why not? I/ll tell you about tomorrow, what they say about it is a lie. It does come. It always comes. Haha, and so do I. And Mary? Quite contrary? Ho, ho. Why not? Im sure she/ll come ... if I invite her . . . hahaha, would you like to come, my dear? Hey Louie, come again on the rice pudding. Be my guest. Yeah, tomorrows another day . . . with a razzmatazz and a twenty-three skiddoo. Trip down the path with those pretty maids all in a row. Nope, she aint contrary at all. Hahaha. To-morrow is a-noth-er day. . . .
And what ill tidings bring ye to she? Be it tidings of pain or joy? Ah, yes, pain or joy? How can I answer? With a wave
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of the hand? A shrug of shoulder? A nod of head? Or shall I answer with that beast of beasts, another question? If you will, a question. How beats her heart? How quickens her breath? And tell me, does not her pulse pound and throb through her veins? And how quivers that succulent mound of Venus between soft thighs? Surely the pounding pounds and the throbbing throbs, and the tingle doth crawl beneath her flesh. I/ll tell you what I bring the anticipating maiden—the joy of pain and the pain of joy. . . .
Yeah, youre goddamn
right. Right up the old gazoo, the moist and hungry gazookus. The next day Harry left the office early and met Mary on the corner. Tom, what are you doing here, I—
I have to talk with you, Mary, grabbing her arm and directing her up the street.
Mary looked at him, bewildered and surprised. Whats wrong? You look so intense, and—concerned. (Ah, very good Dr. White. Just keep that expression for a few minutes and we/ll be back in the saddle again.)
I got a call from Chicago an hour ago and I have to fly out there tonight.
O, no! Not tonight Tom, the light draining from her eyes. And I have no idea how long I will have to stay, the look of concern now coupled with frantic despair—and hunger. He looked deep into her lightless eyes. This was the penultimate stage of the game. In a few minutes she would be taking off his clothes and devouringly pulling him on top of her.
Mary returned his stare, then noticed a sign on the side of the building across the street, HOTEL SPLENDIDE. Tom, look, and he turned and looked at the sign, then back into her shining eyes.
O, and sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye, and all that sort of stuff. That broad was hungry, really hungry. So much so that Harry got the fright of his life and for a second not only regretted the entire game, but almost prayed for deliverance. They did not have too much time (much less than she knew), and when round one was finished there was not the
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time for a cigarette and banter, wanting to get in as much as possible (O, thats funny, a real bon mot), and she started to gobble his bird and a chill pierced him as he thought she was some kind of cannibal who was going to eat him, but for real, but after a shriek she apologized and her table manners improved, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief and with a wave of the hand he wished her bon appétit.
Time was short and the desires long, but they did the best they could with what they had. And, all things considered, they had quite a lot. They definitely were not disappointed with their LAprès-Midi dun Fuck. Eventually when time, and job consciousness, intruded upon their hasty liaison, they left bed and board (Sorry you have to eat and run. [O, thats a good one. ]) for the shower.
The shower was a large, flat sprinkler head protruding from the wall over the bathtub, which gave a feeling of openness to it. They soaped each other and rubbed and lathered and, from time to time, Harry would slip the soap up out of sight, and soon they realized that time and job would have to wait just a little longer and Harry helped Mary stretch out in the tub and mounted his maiden fair, the water falling and sprinkling itself on his back and tinkling on the tub as he sang merrily his lay, with his big toe stuck in the drain. When the song was over (but the melody lingers on), they both stretched out on their backs and let the water plop on them, and slid up and down in the tub, laughing.
But, alack and alas, times thrust is inevitable, and so the cleansing ra
in of summer was turned off and bodies briskly rubbed with inadequate towels. When they finished drying, Harry took the towel from her hands, slowly slid his hands across her body while looking into her eyes, then pulled her close to him and nuzzled her hair and neck. Youre a magnificent, woman, Mary, and kissed her on the shoulder, the neck, the lips.
O, Tom, her eyes closed, swaying with a feeling of ecstasy, my precious Tom, I love you. Neither one reacted to the statement, but Harry continued
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to kiss her for another few seconds, then they dressed and left to fulfill their commitments to job and time.
When they parted at the corner, Mary looked up at Harry with eyes that were aglow and dreamily twinkling. You will come over to the park when you get back, wont you?
Of course, smiling gently. He squeezed her hand. Goodbye Mary.
So long Tom.
Harry walked back to the office knowing that he would not have to check up on her to see if she was sitting by the lake, waiting. She/d be there, for a long time. And who knows, he might go back someday. Yeah . . . the next time he wanted a box lunch, hahahaha. But she was all right, that broad, at least while shes hungry. Hungry hell, she was starving. But shes got an insatiable appetite. And not for the old zortch. Love. Yeah, thats what she wants. A little T.L.C. Some affection and understanding. I bet she could be a pretty good wife—but not for me. Its too bad, we could have some good lunch hours (or two), but thems the breaks. But she/d probably change after she wasnt so hungry, after she had had a few good, steady meals.
Well, anyway, thats the end of that little scene. Sure was a ball while it lasted. Glad she didnt get too mushy. A pretty straight broad. Bet it was the first time she fucked around on her old man. Wonder what hes going to think when she comes home tonight with her skin and eyes glowing? He probably wont even notice. He must be some kind of jerk. Maybe shes right and hes just an asshole. But you can bet your sweet ass that that glow will be gone in a couple of weeks. Poor bitch. Feel sort of sorry for her. Probably curse my ass. . . . But someday she/ll thank me. At least now she knows she doesnt have to sit around and wait for her old man. Now she knows she can spend a night with the boys too, hahaha. . . . Yeah, I probably saved her a lot of time and trouble. Who knows how long it might have taken her to find out she can play around too. Harry disembarked from the elevator, waved at the recep-
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tionist and strolled to his desk. Before he could sit down, Mr.Wentworth's secretary was standing beside him. Where have you been?
Out to lunch. Why, did you miss me, Louise?
No, but Mr. Wentworth did—Harry looked at his watch— and was pretty mad when he left.
Krist, it is late, isnt it?
Frankly, Im surprised you bothered to come back at all, or are you just early for tomorrow? laughing quietly.
Thanks, I need your cheerfulness, frowning. What did he want?
The figures for the Compton and Brisbane proposal. We found most of the information on your desk, but the calculations and data sheets and a few other things were missing.
O, krist, his previous elation drained, they should be right here, opening a drawer and pulling notebooks and a few folders out and putting them on the desk. What did he want them now for, assembling papers hurriedly, he said he didnt need them until tomorrow.
Evidently there was a sudden change, shrugging her shoulders, and he had to meet with the client this afternoon. You/d better get them ready, he said he would call if he had to have them. He thought he— O, theres the phone.
Louise left, and Harry continued to arrange the papers, hoping—almost praying—that Mr. Wentworth would not call. He suddenly felt nauseous as he realized that that might be him on the phone now. He turned and looked toward Louise, who was nodding her head and writing on a pad. He tried to get her attention by increasing the intensity of his stare, but she continued to listen and take notes. All of a sudden his insides were in a turmoil, his bones and flesh seemed to be knotted with anxiety. For krists sake, Louise, look up, will you? Harry could feel his toes twitching and his eyes starting to tear slightly from staring so hard. Damn it, clenching his jaw tightly, is he on the phone????
Louise hung up the phone, looked at her notes for a few seconds, then noticed Harry staring at her. She returned his
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stare for a second, wondering what was wrong with him, then realized why he was staring and smiled and shook her head no. Harry felt a sudden relief, as if he had just had a reprieve, but then realized that it was to be short-lived, as if he had been taken away from the gas chamber at the last moment, but was already on his way to the gallows. He shook his head. Jesus krist, whats going on? This is crazy. He looked at the mess he had made with the papers, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and was determined to slow down and just take it easy and get the papers ready. He looked at them for a moment, then carefully and methodically started to assemble them properly.
Louise stopped at his desk on her way out. You look like youre ready to spend the night.
Well, I thought maybe I/d stay around for a few minutes, looking a little sheepish and embarrassed, just in case Mr. Wentworth called.
I dont think he/ll call now, not if he hasnt called already.
Yeah, youre probably right. Guess I/ll pack up.
Goodnight Harry. See you tomorrow.
Yeah. Good night. Harry straightened up his desk and got ready to leave, but decided to stay until five-thirty. He felt that if he somehow stayed that extra half-hour, it would make everything all right, that somehow it would erase what had happened today.
Happened???? Yeah, what in the hell did happen? What is all this bullshit about, anyway? Im doing my job. What do they want from me? Krist, youd think I killed someone, or something. Has it just been one day? Jesus. It seems like years ago since I stood on the corner and waited for whatser-name... . Somethings wacky. Just cant figure it. One day . . . I do a good job. They dont have any right to get on my back like that. O balls. Be damned if I know what it is, but something sure as hell is wrong.
He left the office and walked along Fifth Avenue for a few blocks, his head tumbling with images and words, then got on a bus and rode to Forty-second Street. He got off and walked
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west to Times Square. The crowds seemed unusually oppressive and his ears hurt as if there were some sort of pressure behind them, as if they were about to be pierced with an ice pick, and his eyeballs felt like they were being pressed by two large thumbs.
He stopped at Grants and had a couple of hot dogs and clam juice, then continued down Forty-second Street until he turned into one of the movies. He did not know exactly what was going on on the screen, but it helped relieve the pain in his head. He had reviewed the day so many times, trying desperately to make some semblance of sense out of the events, that he was slowly becoming mentally exhausted, and whatever was happening on the screen absorbed enough from the surface of his mind so that he got relief from the pressure.
After a few hours he left the theater and went home. Every now and then the clacking of the subway train seemed to say Compton & Brisbane, Compton & Brisbane, and he would have to shake his head and concentrate on the people in the train or the advertisements until the noise was just the usual click, clack.
The following morning Harry got to the office early to be certain to be there when Mr. Wentworth arrived. He double-checked the Compton & Brisbane folders to be sure they were ready, then tried to get involved with another job, but found it impossible to concentrate as he involuntarily continued to look toward the door, his right leg bouncing up and down on the ball of his foot.
He did not want to be drinking coffee and eating his usual danish when Mr. Wentworth came in, so he passed them up this morning, and now he wished he had something to wash that metallic taste out of his mouth and feed that active hunger in his gut. It seemed like every part of his body was itchy with apprehension, even the tips of his hair. He tried to freeze a look of deep and abso
lute concentration on his face, but it felt like his skin would crack.
Thank God, Wentworth finally got there. Harry could feel his pulse in his temples and the sweat on his chest and
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under his eyes; could feel his heart pounding in his throat and his stomach twisting and turning. He followed Mr. Went-worth with his eyes, ready to smile if he should look at him, but he just continued to his office.
Then Harry waited— And waited— For eternal minutes. He could not believe that time could move so slowly, or that he could feel so sick. He had to constantly swallow his nausea, and those thumbs on his eyes were pressing harder and harder. He sat waiting for Mr. Wentworth to buzz him, his foot bounding uncontrollably, all the power of his mind focused on the control of his anal sphincter muscle. His skin felt as if it were being flushed with molten lead, and he knew that any minute he would leap up from his desk and start to scream and scream and scream and he fought hard to swallow his scream over and over again along with his nausea. He could feel the sweat stinging the small of his back and the toes in his right foot started to cramp, and when the buzzer finally screeched in his ear his skin almost peeled from his bones.