Boys & Girls Together (79 page)

Walt pushed his glasses up snug against the bridge of his nose with his left thumb. It was two o’clock on a muggy October morning and they were sitting in the living room of Tony’s apartment in a new red-brick building on East 53rd Street. “I went to college with Branch,” Walt said. “He dated girls as much as most people.”

“Nevertheless, dear heart, he’s queer,” Tony said. She was wearing tight black slacks and a light-gray cashmere cardigan buttoned to the throat and she continued, slowly, to raise and lower her legs.

I know why you’re doing that, Walt thought. You’re doing it because I happened to run into a college acquaintance of mine walking along Third Avenue and he’s been in New York a month and in the excitement I forgot to introduce you until he was gone and I told you I was sorry, but apologies are never enough for someone like you. What you want is for me to make a pass at you so you can get your kicks turning me down. Walt looked closely at her as she lay stretched on the couch, moving her legs. Her skin was dark and clear, her hair black, her lips red. I’m on to you, you teasing bitch. Not this time. I’m not gonna make a pass because if I did you would only remind me, again, of your precious virginity.

“Can’t we cut the calisthenics?” Walt said.

“You don’t find it attractive?”

“No-no, it’s too attractive. I’m liable to go berserk just watching you. See, lady athletes are my weakness. I’ve got pinups all over my room. Russian lady shot-putters. Tamara Press, she’s my dream girl. What a body—65-48-72.”

Tony continued moving her legs, up and down, up and down. “Knowing you, I believe it,” she said. “Getting back to your
friend
—”

“Boy, you make that sound dirty. Now I know you’re very knowledgeable about homosexuals, having taken Perversion I at good old Sarah Lawrence.”

Tony sat up on the couch. “What’s wrong with Sarah Lawrence?”

“Nothing’s
wrong
with Sarah Lawrence. It happens to be a marvelous school. Why, it’s probably the only college left in the world where you can still major in Phrenology.”

“Ohhhh, hims made a jokey.”

“Love that baby talk.”

“Hers only does it to get hims vexed.”

“Well, hims is vexed, so hers can can it.”

“You’re my cutesy-wootsy,” Tony said, and she lay back on the couch. “The reason I know about Branch or whatever his name is is that I happen to be a girl. Girls can tell things about guys like that. A guy like that, he reacts to a girl different from a guy who isn’t like that. That’s how I know he’s a fag.”

“Tony, dammit—”

“What are you so defensive about? Did you have the hots for him or something? Is that why you wouldn’t introduce me? Afraid I wouldn’t measure up to old Baldy?”

Walt said nothing.

Tony looked at him. “Oh-oh,” she said. “You’re mad at me. I’ve gone too far. I keep forgetting what a sensitive creature you are.”

“Let’s just please change the subject. Talk about something else. How about getting me a cup of coffee?”

“Say you forgive me,” Tony said, and she jumped up from the couch and ran behind Walt’s chair, throwing her arms around his neck. “Please. You’ve got to.” She leaned over his shoulder until her upside-down face was level with his. “If you don’t, I’ll fog your glasses,” and she tightened her hold on his neck, blowing hard on his lenses until they were steamed up. Then she began to giggle.

“ It really isn’t funny, y’know.”

“Oh yes it is too. You should see yourself.” She slipped over the arm of the chair and fell into his lap. “Kiss me, my fool,” she said.

Walt kissed her.

Tony jumped to her feet.

“Hey,” Walt said.

Tony shook her head. “Only one to a customer.” She looked at him. “God, you’re a sexy wench, Kirkaby, old foggy Kirkaby, old coffee drinker.”

“Forget the damn coffee.” And he reached out for her, but she skipped clear of his grasp and disappeared into the kitchen. “Nuts,” Walt muttered, and he sat in the chair, all hot and bothered, all bothered and hot. She could always do that to him; no matter how casually he determined to play an evening, she could always shatter his characterization, make him commit himself one way or another, thus enabling her to reject him. Walt made a fist and was about to slam it down against the arm of the chair when he realized that if he did, she would hear, and if she heard, she would be able—with her cat’s mind—not only to identify the sound but also to know its reason, and once she knew that, then she would make a sound of her own—not quite stifled laughter—and he had heard her make that sound more than too many times. Slowly, with some difficulty, Walt relaxed his hand.

A lightning flash lit the world outside the window. Then the ensuing thunder.

“What was that?” Tony called.

Walt told her what it was.

Tony stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Gonna rain?”

“Not supposed to.”

“Good for the farmers,” Tony said, and she disappeared again.

“Good for the farmers,” Walt muttered and he stood, moving slowly to the window, gazing out. “Nuts,” he whispered, and he turned, starting for the kitchen, but halfway there he detoured left, pausing at the door to

Tony’s bedroom. The room was dark until another bolt of lightning lit it long enough for him to see the large double bed. Walt stared at it. Even after the room was dark he continued to stare.

Wistfully.

“Almost ready,” Tony called.

Walt made his way to the kitchen. “You are a supreme chef,” he said.

“I am that.” She nodded. “Pavilion is just dying for my instant-coffee recipe but I’m holding out; I don’t think the world’s ready for it.”

“Tony,” Walt said, and then he stepped up behind her and clasped his hands around her waist, kissing her neck.

“Quit with the funny stuff, huh?”

Walt released her. “That was supposed to be sexy.”

“Kirkaby, old kirk, that’s your trouble: when you’re sexy, you’re funny.”

“And when I’m funny?”

“You’re not funny.”

“God, you’re a bitch.”

Tony turned on him. “I don’t much like that. I genuinely do not.”

“Protest too much lately?”

“All right,” she said. “All right. Get this now. I didn’t start this.
You
did.
You
came in here and
you
had to start making remarks about what a lousy cook I am and
lama
lousy cook but I don’t like being reminded particularly and
you know
I don’t like being reminded particularly so what do you do, naturally, but lip off, asking for it, so I give it to you, just like you’re asking for, but
that doesn’t make me a bitch
. If you would just once grasp that when I’m what you think of as bitchy I’m not being bitchy, just defensive—well, try being sweet sometime, I’ll be sweet back. I don’t start things. Never. Not me. You. Always you. Always.”

“You win,” Walt said, and he meant to stop there, but then he said, “You shouldn’t but you do,” and then he said “Dammit” louder than he ever intended, so he grabbed the cup of instant coffee from her hands and turned back into the living room. Moving to the window, he stared sadly out at the rain.

Why sadly? What in the rain made him sad? Something ... something ... Then he remembered that it had to do with Blake and their last night together, and as he remembered he heard Tony’s voice.

“What?” Tony asked from the couch.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.” Walt gripped his cup.

“You just said ‘Oh.’ Why?”

“Did I? No reason.” He took a sip of coffee and continued to stare at the rain. He was aware that Tony was saying something, and probably he should have listened, answered, but probably, again, what she was saying was only his name, “Walt? Walt?” time after time.

Then she was close behind him, her body pressing lightly against his, her hands clasped tight around his waist. We always seem to come up behind each other, Walt thought. I wonder why that is.

And while he was wondering he stepped clear of her embrace, turning to face her. “The coffee,” he said. “It might spill.” He moved to the chair and sat down.

She moved to the arm of the chair, hesitated, started to sit, straightened, then sat on the couch. “Coffee all right?”

“Fine,” Walt said.

“You’re a gentleman and a liar.”

“No, really,” Walt said. “It’s fine.”

“What are you thinking?” Tony said, and then she clapped her hand to her mouth. “I hate girls who ask that. Absolutely loathe and despise them. Forgive me?”

“Forgiven.” Walt stared out the window at the rain.

“
Merci
.”

Walt made a smile.

“What
are
you thinking?” Tony said. Then: “My God, I just did it again.”

Walt made another smile, took a long sip of coffee, put the cup down. “It’s about that time,” he said, and he stood.

“Asking you twice. You must think I’m just awful.”

“No.” He walked to the front door. “So I’ll call you, O.K.?”

“I’m a leper?” Tony said, standing, hurrying to him. “Take off your glasses.”

Walt took off his glasses.

After the kiss, he put them back on. “So I’ll call you,” he said, and he reached for the doorknob.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Aren’t you forgetting your raincoat?”

“It wasn’t supposed to rain,” Walt said.

“You’ll ruin your clothes.”

Walt looked down at his tennis shoes, his khaki pants, his blue button-down shirt. “Not bloody likely.”

“You’ll catch your death.”

“Subway’s not far.”

“The Lex subway is four blocks away and in this weather that’s far. How about my raincoat? Take my umbrella.”

“Your raincoat’s too small and I lose umbrellas.”

“Let’s not make a thing out of this.”

“By all means.”

“It seems silly going all the way down to the Village. Why don’t you spend the night here?”

“Here?” Walt said.

“You’ll fit on the couch.”

“No. Really. Thanks, but no.”

“I’m not gonna let you go out in that rain.
I’ll
sleep on the couch.”

“No.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“No means no.”

Tony ran her tongue over her lips. Then she shrugged. “What the hell,” she said. “It’s a big bed.”

Walt lay naked under the covers, listening as Tony brushed her teeth. I’m gonna make it, he thought. I don’t know how but I’m gonna make it. What did I do? I wish I knew what I’d done. I’d have done it a long time ago. How long had he been dating Tony? Three months? Five? At least five. Not steady, of course, but still, he’d been giving it the old college try for close to half a year, half his New York stay, and the only time he’d ever come within shouting distance was that night she’d experimented around with martinis for the first (and last
and
only) time but she’d got sick before anything really much had got under way. Walt looked at the bathroom door a moment before turning his head toward the blessed rain. “Good for the farmers,” he said.

“Hey out there I’m done in here.” She opened the bathroom door a crack.

“Proud of you.”

“Well ...”

“Well what?”

“Turn off the light, dopey.”

“The switch is clear across the room and I’m naked.”

“Put something on.”

“No, I don’t think I want to do that.”

“You don’t think
what
? Listen, you can see through what I’m wearing.”

“It’s very strange, but I’m absolutely unable to move.”

“Oh, a wise guy,” Tony said. “God save us all.” She gave a very loud sigh. “All right;
I’ll
turn out the light. But you can’t look.”

“Do you honestly expect me not to look?”

“If you didn’t look, I’d never forgive you,” and she threw the bathroom door open, dashing across the floor to the wall switch, and then the room was dark, but not before Walt had seen the outline of her body beneath the white nylon negligee.

There was no sound in the room, nothing but their breathing, and in the darkness Walt had difficulty seeing her until she stood by the far end of the bed, her body outlined again in the faint gray light from the window. She bent down a moment, pulling back the covers.

Omigod, Walt thought. Omigod.

“Of course you’ve got to promise not to touch me,” Tony said.

“What?”

“You’ve got to promise to be a good boy. Otherwise you can’t stay.”

“Sure, I promise.”

“You really mean that now; no fooling around.”

“I promise, I promise.”

“All right then,” Tony said, and she jumped into bed, lying stretched out, her back to him. “Sheets are cold,” she said, and she began wriggling her body around.

I’m dying, Walt thought.

“Don’t you just love listening to the rain?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Let’s listen to the rain, Walt. Let’s hold our breath and listen to the rain.”

They held their breath a while.

“Hey,” Walt said finally.

“Shhh. It’s just so beautiful, don’t spoil it.”

“I won’t make a sound,” Walt said, and he rose up on one elbow and gently blew on her back.

“Ooooooooo,” Tony went.

Walt kissed her back.

“Ooooooooo,” Tony went again.

Walt kissed her neck.

“Oh, Walt—”

Walt kissed her ear.

“Walt, you promised.”

He kissed her eyes.

“You promised to be a good boy!”

“Just a good-night kiss?”

Tony said nothing.

“Just one?”

“All right,” she whispered. “One.” And her arms went around him and her mouth pressed up against his and he could feel her fingers digging into his back. They rolled across the bed and he grabbed for her breasts, but almost before his hand made contact she was pushing him away. “
What do you think you’re doing?
”

“Kissing you good night.”

“Oh God,” Tony said. “God, God, God.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m just so disappointed.”

“Tony ...”

“Good night, Walt,” and she moved to the far side of the bed.

Walt started after her.

“Stop!”

“Tony, I’m dying.”

“Good night, Walt.”

“But, Tony—”

“I mean it. Good night.”

“Will ya just—”

“Good
night
!”