“Bad joke,” said Tod as she turned and looked down on us. “You know I didn’t mean that.”
Irene seemed to relent. Her shape descended and she settled herself beside me, in awkward abundance, and my hand reached out to the white pulp of her shoulder. Astounding proximity. Never, never before . . . She was tense and tight (as I was); but skin is soft. Touch it. It gives. It gives to the touch.
“Great,” said Tod. “Then you can get the hell out of here.”
These words, I’m glad to say, had a relaxing effect on her. But her voice still sounded frightened when she said, “I promise.”
“You promise?”
“Never,” she said.
“You wouldn’t?”
“But I’d never tell.”
“Oh what nonsense,” said Tod. “Who would believe you anyway? You just don’t know enough.”
“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you go on with this. You’re scared I’m going to tell.”
There was a silence. Irene moved even closer as the conversation took another turn.
“Life,” said Tod.
“What?” said Irene.
“Christ, who cares. It’s all shit anyway.”
“Why? I just don’t rate, huh?”
“That’s something you don’t ever talk about.”
“Were you this nice to your wife and kid?”
“We wouldn’t know about that, would we, Irene.”
“Except to your friends. And family. Your loved ones.”
“You have no obligation to be healthy.”
“Also fatal,” said Irene.
“Do you really have to do that? It’s a disgusting habit.”
Tod started coughing and flapping his thick right hand about. After a while Irene quenched her cigarette of its fire and restored it to the pack. She turned toward us meaningfully. There followed about ten minutes of what I guess you’d call foreplay. Snuggling, grunting, sighing—that kind of thing. Then he moved, and loomed above her. And as she opened her legs I was flooded by thoughts and feelings I’d never had before. To do with power.
“Oh baby,” she said, and kissed my cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tod. “I’m so sorry.”
Well, they made it up, anyway. Afterward, it was very much easier. Yes, the atmosphere was outstanding as we put our clothes on and went downstairs to have something to eat. There we sat, at the dinette feature, side by side, equably untwirling yard after yard of the pale pasta. Then—another first—off to the movies, if you please. And arm in arm. I felt I was moving through a strange land, on tiptoe, with the woman I was allowed to touch—was allowed to do anything I wanted to, or at least anything I was capable of doing. What’s the limit? As we walked a siren sounded, like a wolf-whistle caught on a scratched record. . . . The movie passed off fine also. I was worried at first, when Irene started crying again before we had even taken our seats. And I suppose the film was pretty depressing. All about love. The on-screen couple, quietly glowing with beauty and amusement—they seemed made for each other; but after various misunderstandings and adventures they ended up going their separate ways. By this time Irene was emitting a steady gurgle of contentment, when she wasn’t laughing her head off. Everyone was laughing. But not Tod. Not Tod. To be fair, I didn’t think it was funny either. We ended up at a bar near the theater. She had stingers. Tod with his steins. And although Tod walked home in a filthy temper (he was thoroughly out of sorts), our parting with Irene was marked by its cordiality and warmth. I know I’m going to be seeing a lot more of her. On top of which we came out twenty-eight dollars to the good. Make that thirty-one with the popcorn. It doesn’t sound like much but you’ve got to watch out these days, with everything constantly getting cheaper and Tod grimly counting his money the whole time.
Me, I’m head over heels. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. The forgiveness offered by her young blue eyes, which peep out in mortal embarrassment from the old sneaker of her face, so puffed, so pinched, so parched. Mmm—people! It seems to me that you need a lot of courage, or a lot of something, to enter into others, into other people. We all think that everyone else lives in fortresses, in fastnesses: behind moats, behind sheer walls studded with spikes and broken glass. But in fact we inhabit much punier structures. We are, it turns out, all jerry-built. Or not even. You can just stick your head under the flap of the tent and crawl right in. If you get the okay.