“Joan, there is no way to spot it, if an ambi does not want it known. Either ambi, or clear over the line and no return. Look, when you were Johann, could you spot a virgin?”
“Jake, I’m not sure I ever met a virgin. But you have.”
“You must mean someone we both know.”
“Of course.”
“Who? Winnie? Wouldn’t have thought so. But she does blush easily.”
“Not Winnie. If she is one, I didn’t have her in mind.” (You crawled out of that one!) (Winnie can tell her own secrets. Honey girl? Does Jake know about your baby?) (No, and we’re not going to tell him!) (Didn’t intend to, darling—just didn’t want to be caught foolish.)
“Well, I can’t guess. Who is this paragon?”
“Me.”
“Uh— But—” Jake Salomon shut up.
“Sure, sure, dear—Johann was not, and Eunice was married. Not to mention an old wolf who tripped her.” (I tripped him.) “But none of that applies to this new female in your lap. I’m a virgin. But would not have been, by now—I think—if that goddam phone hadn’t sounded. Don Ameche should never have invented it;”
“Who’s he? Some Russian? Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone.”
“An obsolete joke, Jake—sorry. Ameche played Bell in a movie, oh, about the time you were three or four years old. But let’s not talk about long-dead actors, nor my virginity that I can’t get rid of; let’s discuss Eunice.” (My favorite subject!) “That overhead light is in my eyes; where can I squeeze it down? And will you keep your lap warm while I trot and do it?”
“I can do it from here. Is that better?”
“Oh, much! I want to see you, darling—but floor lights are enough. Now tell me about Eunice. I not only want to be like her in other ways . . . but I would like to learn to make love-the way she did. As much as you’ll tell me.”
“Joan, you know I can’t tell such things about a lady.”
“But I am Eunice, Jake. I just don’t have her memory. So I need help. Eunice loved you, and still loves you, I feel certain—and Joan Eunice loves you—with a love not at all like the fierce affection Johann always had for his one friend—Joan Eunice loves you with a love that comes also from Eunice’s sweet body that I wear so proudly. So tell me about her. Was she as eager as I am?”
“Uh—” (Slide your hand inside his shirt, twin. Be careful not to tickle.) “Joan, Eunice was eager. 1 had trouble believing it at first—me an old wreck and she so young and beautiful. But she managed to make me believe it.”
“But you are no: an old wreck, darling. You are in better shape than I was at your age. Oh, your face has character lines; it has a granite majesty that impresses everyone. But your body is as firm and trim as a man half your age. Muscley. And your skin is smooth and elastic, not that distressing crepelike texture I remember too well. Darling even if you divorce me later, will you marry me soon enough to let me have your baby?” (Hon, you’re knocking him out of the ring! That’s one I never dared use.)
“Eunice! Joan Eunice.”
“Oh, I don’t mean soon enough for you—I mean soon enough for me. I may have fifteen more fertile years—but the sooner the better; a woman ought not to have her first baby at past forty. But you will be making babies as long as you live. How many children do you have, Jake beloved?”
“Three. You met two of them once. And four grandchildren.”
“I don’t mean those, I mean others. I’ll bet you have at least a dozen more, here and there. You’ve been rich a long time; you could afford it. How many that you haven’t mentioned?”
“Joan Eunice, that’s snoopy.”
“Yes, and no one has to answer, that sort of question. But didn’t Eunice ever ask?” (I did and I think he fibbed. I want to hear what he says this time.)
“Uh—“
“I won’t tell anybody but Eunice. Not even the old Man with the book.”