Chris (5 page)

"Frankly, darling, I'm just sizing up the competition," Carol said. She put out her hand. "Let's go, handsome."

"After you, m'dear," Chris rejoined, bowing from the waist and waving her arm toward the arch. She stepped up beside Carol and took her elbow.

Together they walked out to the hall.

Chris let the heavy black door close quietly behind her, then hurried to follow Carol down the steps.

It was already late afternoon and Fifth Avenue was beginning to buzz with the homeward dash of thousands of office workers. A long string of buses, with taxis making links in the chain, honked and rattled down the Avenue. At the near corner a timid little woman peered desperately in both directions, looking for a break, then lifted an umbrella in one hand and her skirt in the other and launched into the fray. Miraculously she appeared on the opposite curb and lifted her nose contemptuously at the obscenities roared after her.

Carol stopped at the corner and faced Chris. "Darling," she said, "may I make a suggestion?"

"Of course."

"Let's go to the zoo. We can have lunch in the cafeteria."

Chris smiled at her approvingly. "Honey," she said, "that's perfect."

They walked to Sixty-fourth and crossed at the light. They went through the entrance, down the steps and turned right toward the monkey house. They walked slowly past the cages, not talking, pausing occasionally to chortle at the antics of the apes.

Carol had linked her arm through Chris' and when they stopped for a moment, she pressed close to her side. There was a good six-inch difference in height. Chris looked down at the girl now and then, feeling deeply contented and at peace. Something about Carol made Chris feel taller and stronger and for the moment sure of herself.

They passed the archway by the bear cages and went up the steps to the cafeteria. Only a few hearty souls sat at the tables on the terrace. The wind had come up and the fading rays of the sun gave little warmth.

"Outside or in?" Chris asked, stepping away from Carol to let a six-year-old with dog fly past.

"Outside, of course." Carol walked to a table for two by the wall and plunked down her purse to claim possession. Chris followed and stood by the table as Carol took a seat.

"What shall I bring you?" Chris asked. She liked the way Carol let her take over.

"Let's see," Carol gave a thoughtful frown. "They have good chopped liver. And a piece of cake and a light coffee."

"Right"

Chris turned and passed through the large center doorway. Five minutes later she emerged carrying a heavy tray.

She set the tray on the next table and moved four sandwiches, two enormous slices of chocolate cake, four cups of coffee, napkins, sugar and silver on the table for two.

"You must be as expensive to feed as a Great Dane," Carol commented blandly.

"Worse," Chris grinned. She knew this was not true. Dizz always complained that she was a picky eater. She always was when Dizz was around.

Chris did not say another word until she was at the far end of three sandwiches, a piece of cake and two cups of coffee. Then she lit a cigarette, leaned back and said, "Ahh!"

Carol laughed delightedly. She sat looking across the table at Chris, an expression on her face that Chris had often yearned to see on Dizz.

In that moment Chris felt a sudden terrible fear. She knew what was happening to her and to Carol. Knew that she had never felt such complete contentment as at this moment. Even last night, holding Dizz, it had been edged with poignancy and pain. There was no pain now. Only joy. And it made her afraid.

She shivered and the cigarette fell from her fingers. She put out her foot and ground the butt into the floor.

"Darling," Carol said, "what on earth's the matter? You're green."

“I was thinking how much I enjoy being with you," Chris said.

"Is that something to have a fit over?" Carol asked her quietly.

"Yes, it is," Chris answered bluntly. She stood up shakily and held onto the table. "Come on. I'll take you home."

Carol made no comment, but followed Chris docilely down the steps, back past the cages and around to the entrance. At the bottom of the steps Chris paused and turned to face her. There was a gentle smile on Chris' lips and tender affection in her eyes.

"Carol darling, please forgive me," Chris said. She took both of Carol's hands in her own and pulled the girl close. "I don't always behave like an overgrown brat."

Carol nodded. "I know," she said. "Look, honey. I've got a couple of theories about what's eating you. They may be miles off base, but they'll do for the time being." She stepped away from Chris, but held onto one hand. "Right now, we could both use a drink. I've got a fresh bottle of bourbon at home." She wrinkled her forehead quizzically. "That is, if you have time."

“I have time," Chris said.

Hand in hand they took the steps by twos. Chris flagged a cab and held the door for Carol, then stepped in behind her.

"Seventy Second and First," she said to the driver.

They rode in silence, each tucked in her own corner of the seat. Chris sat gnawing her lower lip and gazing intently out the window at nothing. For some inane reason she was thinking back to the party, the night she met Dizz. Trying to recapture that first emotion, to feel out the magic that had trapped and held her. She saw the lovely face, touched the soft hair, heard the vibrant voice whispering, saying...

"Chris, we're here," Carol said softly, touching her lightly on the arm. Chris reached a hand toward her pocket.

“I already paid it," Carol said. She leaned across Chris and opened the door. "Come on, honey."

Chris got out and turned to help Carol. She shut the door and followed Carol toward the entrance of the old brick building.

The hallway smelled of onions and cats and garbage. Somewhere upstairs a woman was screaming at her husband. A kid was bawling. The steam press next door in the laundry hissed rhythmically. It was like all the crummy buildings in all the crummy neighborhoods Chris had known before Dizz happened. And for one nostalgic moment she relished the stench and the charm and the horror of it.

Carol stopped to peer into the mailbox for number ten. "Cobwebs," she said. "Once a month I get a phone bill"

Chris followed her up three flights of steps. She waited while Carol fished out the key from her purse, then reached to take it from her. She unlocked the door and pushed it inward, stepping aside to let Carol precede her.

Carol dropped her purse on top of the phonograph and crossed to a cabinet against the far wall.

"Come in and sit down," Carol said. She stooped to open the bottom compartment and lifted out a bottle. “Straight, on the rocks, mixed, what?"

"Straight," Chris answered. "And long." She walked to sofa and sat down carefully on the edge. She crossed hands on her knees.

Carol picked two glasses from the top of the cabinet turned them over. With a bottle opener she broke the seal on the bottle. She carried the bottle and the two glasses over to the coffee table in front of Chris. "Well, don't you look comfortable," Carol said. "I won't bite, you know." She looked down at Chris fondly. "Will you pour, madam?"

Chris leaned forward and wiggled the cork out of the bottle. She poured a third of a glass and handed it to Carol Then she filled the other glass level full and bent to take a sip.

They sat side by side on the edge of the couch. Neither of them spoke nor drank. Chris could hear a faucet dripping behind the screen that shut off the tiny kitchen. The woman was still screaming at her husband. The baby cried.

Carol laid a hand on Chris' arm and shook her gently. "Honey," she said, "would you like some coffee? I don't think you care for my bourbon." She pouted playfully.

"Coffee would be fine," Chris said. She put a finger under Carol's chin and tilted the girl's face to look into her own. "And I do like your bourbon. But I'm trying to think about something and for once in my life I don't feel like being polluted."

"At least we're making progress," Carol said. She got up and walked behind the screen. "Instant okay?" she called.

"Naturally."

Chris sat listening to the clink of dishes, a spoon against a jar, the lid of a sugar bowl. Then water scalding into cups. The gurgle of milk from a bottle.

Carol carried the steaming cups to the low table and set them down. She took the bottle and glasses and put them back on the cabinet. Then she came and sat down beside Chris.

Chris had not moved from her stiff, uncomfortable position.

"Darling," Carol said, "may I have a cigarette?"

Chris took a pack out of her pocket, pulled out two and lit them both. She handed one to Carol. She crumpled the empty pack and dropped it on the table.

Then she turned to face Carol. "Carol," she began, “I think there are a few things we'd better settle."

"Before you say anything, Chris, let me put in my two cents' worth." Carol put her palms flat on Chris' clenched fists. "I'm sort of a shameless slob, darling. I love you and I admit it. But I know that you're in love with someone else. I think it's a sick kind of love or an obsession or something."

Chris attempted to move from under Carol's hands.

"No, Chris, listen to me," Carol said. "I think this because I've seen you blind drunk and miserable. Because I've got black and blue marks all over me where you let out your frustrations. Because, when you were sobering up and ashamed of what you'd done, you lay in my arms and sobbed like a baby." She paused to look at Chris closely. "How long has it been since Dizz let you make love to her?"

Chris looked away quickly. She did not answer. “I thought so," Carol went on. "She doesn't satisfy you that way. She doesn't give a damn about your work. Yet you cling to her like she was—" She could find no words to describe it. "What difference does it make? That's your business. What I started to say is simply that I love you. I don't know if I can beat this thing that Dizz has become to you. I don't know if I can take you away from her. In fact, I won't even try. I hope you'll come to me because you want to be with me. Because I know, whether you'll believe it or not, that you will want to if you do, you'll be happy here."

“Are you finished?" Chris asked coldly.

"One thing more," Carol answered. I know you can walk out of here tonight and never come back. But if you do, Chris, you'll be kidding yourself." She smiled at Chris. "Now, darling, what were you going to say?" She took both cigarettes and put them out in the ashtray.

Chris sighed tiredly. “I was going to say that when I leave here tonight, I will not be coming back. That I'm in love with Dizz and that I always will be. That I enjoy being with you. It's fun. But I'm only kidding myself because I know it won't get us anything but misery." She looked down at Carol and laughed. "I feel a little foolish."

Carol laughed too. "Now will you please kiss me? If there's anything I can't stand it's a lot of talk."

Chris went to the girl willingly. She put her arms around Carol and for a long minute held her tight. Then she kissed the girl deeply and long.

They lay together on the couch, Carol nestling in Chris' arms. Outside it had gotten dark and cold. Only an occasional bus rumbling down the street broke the stillness.

"Chris?"

"Hm?"

"It's getting late."

"Urn, hmm."

"Dizz is waiting for you."

"Um, hmm."

"Chris?"

"Hm?"

"When will I see you again?"

Chris was silent for a moment. "That depends," she said. "We'll have Saturday night at least. Maybe sooner. I’ll call you tomorrow."

"But you will be back?"

"Yes, Carol, I'll be back."

Chris stood by the fence at Beekman Place, gazing down to the river. She watched the red and blue of a Pepsi Cola sign ride the ripples from the far shore. Somewhere down near the island a boat hooted mournfully into the dark night.

She put her forehead against the wire and pressed her nose through the criss-cross hole. She put her fingers into other criss-cross holes and leaned heavily against the fence. She could barely stand.

She knew it had been a serious error of judgment to bolt that glass of bourbon just before she left Carol. All the way home in the cab she'd clung to the door, her nose and forehead pressed to the icy window. Now she clung to the fence, as mournful as the foghorn, scared to walk in the house and face Dizz. She was drunk.

She felt in her jacket pockets for a cigarette, then membered that she had emptied the pack.

A light mist had started a few minutes before and already her hair was damp and blowing into matted curls. Her feet were clammy and a chill ran through her body. It was past midnight. Still she did not move to enter the house.

She heard the click of heels on the sidewalk behind her. She did not turn to investigate them.

“I thought I might find you here," Dizz said softly. She came up close behind Chris and slipped an arm around the girl's waist. "Honey, come in the house. I've got some coffee going. You'll catch cold out here."

"Dizz, I'm drunk. I feel awful. I better stay here awhile." Chris spoke thickly, slurring the words.

“I know," Dizz said. "Come in the house. We’ll sober you up." She spoke to Chris as though to a child.

Chris pulled away from Dizz and turned to lean against the fence. "Dizz," she mumbled, "do you hate me? Do you hate me because I'm a drunken slob?"

"Of course I don't hate you, you big fool." Dizz laughed softly. She moved close to Chris and put her head against the girl's shoulder. "Would I be snuggling up in front of the neighbors if I hated you?"

Chris thought that over carefully in her muddled, feverish brain. She knew that Dizz generally had a motive when she snuggled up. But she was too far out to figure any angles at the moment. So she'd have to take Dizz's word for it.

Chris bent her head to press her lip to the girl's hair. It tickled her nose and she sneezed.

"Bless you," Dizz said. She took Chris' hand and pulled at her gently. "Come on, baby. The coffee’ll boil over."