Blind Date
“Do you mind if I have my drink at your table?” she asked.
“With me or alone?” he asked.
She laughed. “With you of course.” She took a sip, then sat quietly for a few moments. “Did you see the Lilliputians?”
Levanter nodded.
“They’ll freak this town out,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Levanter told her about the New York booking agent and how he had decided to visit Impton because of the convention. He couldn’t tell whether Jolene believed him.
“This is a scared town,” she said. “Recently, for example, a sick guy was beating and raping women hitchhikers. The newspaper warned that he was on the loose, but girls kept right on hitchhiking and kept right on getting into this guy’s car. I heard a radio interview with one of the ones who was raped. She said it was her fault because she had hitchhiked, and now she was trying to be less paranoid about it.” Her voice rose. “Can you believe it? Here’s a girl who was raped and beaten, yet she blames herself for it and says she’s trying to be less paranoid. That’s Impton for you.”
“And what is it for you?” asked Levanter.
“My hometown,” she said with a shrug. “I was born here, the only child of Anglo-Saxon parents. Very distinguished Scottish stock! Descendant of a proud line of local embalmers, auto technicians, wholesalers, food processors, and low-rank military.” She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then, in the same self-deprecating but jocular tone, asked, “The rest of the picture?”
Levanter nodded encouragement.
“O.K. Snapshots from Jolene’s album. Womanhood begins in grade school, age twelve. Jolene loses her virginity to a high school varsity basketball player, who also loses his. More dates. Click. Jolene discovers the orgasm. Click. High school. Meets Greg, law student. Local rich boy. Click. Going steady and bedding steady with Greg. Click. No orgasms with Greg. Click. Orgasms alone. Click. College athletes discover that Jolene puts out. Click. She gets into their games for free; they get into her games for free. Click. Jolene trips on acid and grass and airplane glue and prescription cough syrup. Click. Greg and Jolene marry. Click. House in the best part of town, a gift from Greg’s parents, who pray for grandchildren. Click. Greg successful as a lawyer. Click. Jolene and Greg give a lot of parties to show off their split-level house. Click. They split up. Click. Jolene alone. Click. Jolene at the Taft with yet another stranger. Click. End of album of unique snapshots of an ordinary life. A sweet old-fashioned girl, a perfect subject for any lens to fondle. Do you have a movie camera, Mr. Levanter?” she asked, teasing.
He didn’t answer.
She put out the cigarette she had just lit.
Bluntly, Levanter suggested they go upstairs to his room. Without a word, she stood up. As they walked through the bar, Levanter felt the bartender and waiters watching their exit. Crossing the lobby, they passed one of the hotel guards, who recognized Jolene and bowed to her but pretended not to see Levanter.
“It’s not often that people here notice anything,” said Jolene as they waited for the elevator. “Last week, a fourteen-year-old kid who had driven a car only once before stole an airport bus from downtown. He drove straight to the arrivals terminal, picked up a full load of passengers, collected their fares, and headed back to town, dropping passengers off at stops along the way. Then, somewhere on the highway, he sideswiped a truck. The truck started to chase him and the kid jumped out of the moving bus. Luckily, the truck driver pulled in front of the bus and after a small crash made it stop. Only then did the passengers realize something was wrong. So much for our observant townsfolk!” She laughed.
“Still, they seem to know you here,” said Levanter, feeling a bit uneasy.
“My hometown, remember?”
“And you don’t mind that they know what you’re doing?”
“What do I care what they think? They don’t pay my bills.” Holding her head high, she looked around the lobby defiantly, but there were no more witnesses.
When they entered his room, she quickly took off her dress and slip. Next, she kicked off her shoes. Then, lying back on the bed and lifting her hips, she hooked her thumbs under the top of her pantyhose and smoothly slid them off. Underneath was a G-string. She sat up, piled her hair on top of her head, then let it fall over her shoulders.
Levanter undressed in the bathroom. When he came back in his robe, she was still wearing her brassiere and G-string.
Jolene asked for a drink. He poured one for each of them, then sat on the sofa across from the bed and watched as she slowly sipped hers.
She noticed Levanter eyeing her bra and G-string. “It’s called a grope suit. They’re easy to get anywhere in the country — in sex boutiques in big cities or by mail order in small ones.” She stared up at the ceiling. “The patch in front is covered with human hair. The main feature is the rubber rod inside. It stimulates you every time you move. The bra too. Each cup has a snug hollow on each side that massages your nipple and little rubber things all over that gently rub your breast. A lovely sensation.”
She paused, waiting for Levanter’s reaction. When he did not respond, she kept on talking.
“Whenever I visited Greg in his office, his partners would usually drop in to say hello. While we were talking, I’d look them straight in the eye and then, right there, I would just move or bend slightly or press deeper into my chair, and I would come, over and over again. The best part was the fun of seeing if I could control the expression on my face so no one would know what was going on inside me.” Her gaze lingered on the threadbare rug at the side of the bed.
“When I was a little girl, I’d play with myself, but never in front of anyone. Now I do it with people watching me, and they never know what I’m doing.”
She sat quite still. They could hear a faint buzz of voices from the hotel corridor. Levanter refilled her glass.
“I began wearing my grope suit everywhere,” she continued. “Even under my bathing suit. I wore it to go shopping, to dinners with my in-laws, to picnics and cocktail parties. At these posh affairs, I would often find myself talking politely about this or that with Impton’s finest. Then, out of the corner of my eye I’d see this type giving me an obliging smile — you know, one of those guys who’s so proud of his hairy chest, the kind who pretends to take life and women as they come. I’d encourage him by smiling back. And as he was walking over to introduce himself, I’d turn toward him, and the rubbing of the rod and the bra would arouse me like crazy. I’d be all heated up and come even before I could tell him I was married. And the jerk would never know how well I was doing without him.”
Levanter listened without stirring.
“I once wore my secret to church,” she said. “Even there, with Greg and his family, I could not resist the temptation. But every time I knelt, I felt a little damned when that drive took hold of me.”
She finished her drink and put the glass down.
“And I’m wearing my secret tonight, Mr. Levanter. Are you willing to compete with it?”
Without waiting for an answer, she unhooked her brassiere and took it off. After a slight delay, she removed the G-string. She did not display her costume, but as she stood up, naked, and carried it across the room on her way to the bathroom, Levanter could see that her description was accurate.
When she came back into the room, Levanter was ready for her. Without warning, he grabbed her by the waist and forced her down onto the floor. She did not resist. For a moment, he lay still on top of her, feeling her cool skin. Then he pinned her down, wedging his legs between hers, spreading her wide apart. He flung her arms over her head with one hand and held her wrists still until she was flat and taut. To make certain she was pinioned, he first trailed his other hand idly over her body, then cupped and pulled at her flesh until she squirmed. She couldn’t free herself from his hold.
He sank into her suddenly. She strained and twisted, but he rammed into her, battering her with all his weight, smacking her loins, each butt tearing
the tender tissues of her flesh, pounding her back against the floor. She began to scream. Levanter covered her lips with his, stifling her sounds. He exhaled his breath into her mouth, pressing her throat with his hand; throttled, her excitement accelerated, swelling the veins in her face and neck.
Starved for air, she ripped her hands free, clenching and unclenching them convulsively as if trying to grasp the air itself. A shudder rippled through her. Levanter removed his mouth from hers, and, like a hysterical child on the verge of both laughter and tears, she screamed, trying to wrest herself away from the weight of his body. She opened her mouth, struggling for breath, and in her exertion arched her body, gasping. Then she went limp and fainted. Levanter’s pulse raced, his lungs strained for air, and his eyes blurred. For a moment, everything went black.
When she came to, she wearily ran her hands through her disheveled hair. Her expression was soft, and she looked as if she were trying to smile. She traced her fingers listlessly over her body, gently cupping her breasts, raising her knees. Drops of perspiration glistened on her belly. She reached for him, and drew him close to her.
After a few moments, she squatted with her back to his outstretched body. Her feet were between his thighs, her hands pressing on his knees. She started swaying and her buttocks grazed and stroked his flesh until he could stand it no longer and wanted to pull free of her. Then she slid back over him, until her damp flesh was over his face. He could hardly breathe. As she leaned forward, her breasts rubbed against his belly, her hair fell over his thighs. He felt her mouth around his flesh; like a rampant growth, she sucked the strength out of him. Suddenly conscious of his parched mouth and intense thirst, and no longer willing to fight her, he gave in to the tension that swelled within him.
They woke up late the next morning. She was bruised and moved with difficulty. They went downstairs. The hotel lobby was swarming with Small Americans. A new banner, STAND TALL AND BE COUNTED, announced the opening of the convention.
They drove through town in her open convertible. Levanter noticed several passers-by staring at the two of them with obvious hostility. He asked Jolene what angered them, and she said it was simply the unthinking reaction of the townspeople who had known her for a long time and were unaccustomed to seeing her openly consorting with a stranger.
She took Levanter to lunch at the Impton Inn, the best restaurant in town. The hostess who escorted them to their table was polite to Jolene but curt with Levanter.
While they were eating, a group of well-dressed men and women arrived and were seated at a table nearby. One of the men, pale and stern-looking, glanced around, and when his eyes fell on Jolene his jaw tightened. He looked searchingly at Levanter.
“Who is he?” asked Levanter.
“That’s Greg,” she answered, unperturbed. “My click-click Greg. Remember?”
“And the others?” Levanter asked.
She turned to look at them again. “Friends, acquaintances.”
“What do they do?”
“They’re all in business.”
Levanter looked puzzled. “I thought you told me Greg was a lawyer?”
She played with her salad before she answered. “He gave up law when his father died and he inherited the family business. Now Greg is head of Impton Consolidated, one of the largest companies in the state.”
“You were the wife of a very important man,” said Levanter, all at once aware of how little she had actually told him about herself.
“I was,” said Jolene. “That’s why you’re being stared at. This is a company town. The company practically owns the town, and Greg owns the company. Now that I’ve left Greg, everyone thinks there’s no longer a place for me here. They think they can disown me. And they certainly don’t want you!” She laughed, reaching for his hand and squeezing it in full view of the people at the other table.
Levanter was comforted by the thought that he could fly back to New York as soon as he wished.
“When did you leave Greg?” he asked.
“A few months ago.”
“Is the separation legal?”
She let go of his hand. “It may not be legal, but it sure is clear-cut, as far as this town is concerned.”
“But technically you’re still married to Greg, aren’t you?” Levanter persisted.
“Only technically. So what?” She looked at him with a defiant expression.
“Wouldn’t you be better off leaving Impton?” Levanter asked.
“There was a time when I simply wanted to run away,” she said, “to start a new life. But, like so many others before me, I discovered that in this country we belong to our families, our families do not belong to us. Only newcomers, like you, know how to change their lives overnight, how to develop new interests, take up different professions, generate fresh emotions.”
Levanter made no comment. She looked at him with an ironic smile.
“I read in a magazine that the average American housewife doesn’t run away until she’s past thirty-five, has been married for at least fifteen years, and has one or two kids. And, quite likely, within a year she is traced by detectives solely because, in her new surroundings, she betrays herself by wearing the same hairdo, clothes, jewelry, and make-up. What’s more, she is likely to date a man who physically and professionally resembles the one she ran away from.” She took a few bites of her lunch. “I have devised a system for running away while remaining at home,” she said. “I find strangers, as I found you.” She paused. “But something significant happened to me last night.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“For years, I’ve been hiding in my private maze, cut off and isolated. I didn’t even know who I was anymore,” Jolene said with a nervous smile. “All the men I’ve been with before you have been from around here. They’re as local as I am, and I knew the standards they judged me by — those are my standards too, after all. With you I should feel apprehension, since I don’t know what your standards are. But I don’t feel cautious at all. I am not afraid to say or do anything that might displease you, as I have been with other men. I’m myself — it’s the ultimate risk.”
“I’m planning to leave tomorrow,” Levanter said.
She was silent.
Before they finished their meal, two Small Americans appeared in the doorway of the restaurant, lingering a moment on the threshold before they wandered uncertainly into the room. Again, as in the bar the night before, everyone looked at them and the voices in the room dropped to soft whispers. The hostess beckoned them haughtily to follow her and placed them in the farthest corner. As Levanter glanced about the room, he observed that in the Impton Inn today it was he, not the midgets, who got all the attention.
After lunch, Jolene went home to rest. Levanter walked along the main street. He stopped in front of the window of a large general store, startled by the array of handguns, rifles, shotguns, ammunition, and holsters. Then he realized that the sale of guns was legal in the state, and no permit was required to own a weapon. Only a visitor would be startled by such a display. He entered the store, walking past magazine racks, shelves of personal-hygiene products, and the pharmaceuticals counter, straight to the gun department.
A young man had just bought a rifle and two boxes of ammunition. The salesman placed two more boxes beside his purchase. “That’s on the house,” he said, as he wrote up the order. The customer paid, picked up his package, and left.
The salesman turned to Levanter, smiling. “What can I do for you?”
Levanter studied the pistols and revolvers in the glass case.
The salesman looked down at them also. “These are just a few samples of what we carry,” he said. “Tell me what kind of gun you own, and I’ll tell you what others you might still need.”
“I don’t own a gun,” said Levanter.
The salesman looked surprised. “Do you want something for defense or for a hobby?” he asked.
“Defense as a hobby,” said Levanter, smiling.
“Nowadays, the only hobby a man needs,” the salesman agreed. He reached into the case and pulled out a revolver. “How about a mini-derringer? A real five-shot beaut. Easy to load, easy to shoot, easy to conceal.”
Levanter contemplated the revolver. With it, one’s creativity at the moment of danger was reduced to the crude squeezing of the trigger. He shook his head.
The salesman leaned over the counter and said in a confidential tone, “Did you know that an awful lot of violence is committed against strangers? Last year, over one third of those killed did not know their assailants.” He put the mini-derringer back in the case. “What line of business are you in?”
“Investing,” said Levanter.
“Travel a lot?”
Levanter nodded.
“Then how about this Bulldog forty-four?” He pulled out another revolver. “An ideal featherweight, easy-to-hide gun. The best investment you can make these days.”
Levanter pretended to be unconvinced.
The salesman tried another tack. “Are you married or single?” he asked.
“Single. No children.”
“Where do you spend most of your time, city or country?”
“Big cities.”
The salesman pulled out two longer pistols. “One of these might do. The fifteen-shot Parabellum. Custom-made for mixed neighborhoods, you might say, if you know what I mean!” He winked. “But for sure speed, here’s a true beast,” he said, passing another handgun to Levanter. “A real savage!” he said. “Eleven shots in a single second! As they say, it aims to please, it pleases to aim.” He looked proud of his wit.
The gun felt cold and smooth in Levanter’s hand.
“The other day a man comes in,” the salesman said. “He’s a black, a neat dresser, and speaks with an accent. So I think he’s one of those darky diplomats who do business with Impton Consolidated for one of those safari-land countries where the blacks kill each other like flies.”
Levanter did not comment.
The salesman went right ahead. “So I lay out the best guns I handle: Browning, Beretta, Smith and Wesson, Winchester, Colt, Charter Arms, you name it! He picks up a Mossberg twenty-gauge shotgun and pats it and feels it like a girl, and he aims it at the street like a toy. So I say, ‘Sir, I’ll give you the best deal in town if you want a few hundred of these for your people!’ And he smiles real sweetly at me and says, ‘My people would sure love to use them every day!’ So I ask, ‘What country are you from, sir?’ And he gives me this scary look and says, ‘Harlem, New York!’” The salesman chuckled, his heavy belly bouncing up and down.