Live Girls (11 page)

“Nothing. Just thinking."

He waited, but she just continued looking at him, smiling softly.

“Well?” he pressed.

“I was just thinking that ... I'm kind of glad that Beth took off."

Davey blinked a few times. He was used to her joking about his choice of women friends, but her tone now was serious. Sincere.

“I'm sorry,” she said, shaking her head apologetically. “That probably wasn't a very nice thing to say. However I may have felt about her, I know she meant something to you. But, well, I
am
, dammit! My reasons are kind of selfish, I guess, but that's the way I feel."

“Okay, so what are your reasons?"

“Well, she was bringing you a lot of heartache, for one thing. But I also think that maybe you and I will have a little more ... time together."

Davey sat up a bit straighter. “There's more, I can tell. Go on."

She squirmed, took another bite of her food, then set the carton aside and scooted closer to Davey.

“What happened between us, Davey?” she asked suddenly, her voice so quiet he almost had to strain to hear it. “I mean, that day we spent together, walking around the park, making up stories about all the bums and bag ladies, harassing the pigeons, then, when we came back here, spent the night together ... that was wonderful, Davey. I mean, it. Really. Was.
Wonderful
. Then afterward, we never talked about it, never did anything about it, it was almost like it never happened. So, what'd we do wrong?"

Davey watched her for a moment, hoping she would continue. “I really don't know,” he finally said.

“Neither do I, which makes the whole thing even more stupid and frustrating! You didn't need to go off and shack up with Beth, and I didn't need to quietly sit on the sidelines and watch, wondering if you'd ever come to your senses again!"

He sighed but didn't say anything.

“Anyway, now she's gone and you're available, and all that shit, and ... if you're interested ... I'd kind of like to, well, I think we'd be ... oh, I'm fucking this up. I didn't even plan on talking about this, you know.” She got a tight-lipped look of determination on her face, and she said, “Davey, are you interested? Yes or no."

He almost laughed at the cards-on-the-table tone of voice. “Casey,” he said, “I'm sorry. Sorry if I made you feel
—
"

“Don't apologize!” she snapped, bringing her face so close to his that he could smell her not unpleasant Chinese-food breath. “That's all over now and we've got another shot at things. Life's too short to spend apologizing. So what do you say?"

Davey finally laughed. Softly. “You're a tough cookie,” he said.

“Mama Thorne didn't raise no airheads."

He sat up on the sofa and she scooted over, waiting for a reaction.

“I've got to admit, Casey, I'm a little puzzled. I mean ... I'm not really your type, am I?"

Casey slid away from him. “And just
what
is my
type?"
She didn't let him reply. “If anybody has a
type
, it's
you
. And I can't fit into it!” She stood and paced with her hands on her hips.

“Oh?” Davey said. “And what's
my
type?"

“You still don't know, do you?” She turned to him. “Remember Patty?"

Davey had met Patty in the elevator on his way to work one morning. She'd said she was going to apply for a job at Penn but was sure she would never get it. When he asked why, she'd replied, “I can't do anything, and I sure can't keep a job. Well, except for one. But I don't like it."

Sure enough, she hadn't gotten the job, but he'd taken her to dinner that night. She had talked him into giving her a place to stay until she could get a job. She'd claimed to be looking for work, but she never found any, though she'd somehow managed to always have spending money.

One day, six months later, Davey came home from work early with the flu to find her in the bathroom with a grossly overweight black man. She was giving him an enema in the bathtub.

“It's nothing personal, just a job!” she'd shouted just before leaving a short time later. “But
everything's
personal to you, isn't it?"

Davey looked up at Casey, wondering what she was getting at.

“She needed help, didn't she?” Casey asked. “Needed, oh, I don't know,
caring
for. Right?"

“Well, yeah, she
—
"

“She needed a good shot of self-respect and confidence, right? You thought you had something to offer her. And Beth. You found her in the lobby of the Union being knocked around by her boyfriend. You took her home, gave her a place to stay, took good care of her, let her cry on your shoulder ... really, Davey, don't act confused when I say you have a
type
."

Casey stopped pacing and stood before him.

“You let them use you, Davey, and then when they're finished, you fall into a big pout. Why don't you take a
look
at your problem and
do
something about it. Stop thinking that no woman will have you unless you can
do
something for her."

She sat down and stretched an arm out on the back of the sofa.

“I don't want you to do anything for me, Davey,” she said softly. “I don't want to change you, I don't want to help or pamper you. I just think you're a pretty terrific guy with whom I want to...” She thought a moment, and giggled. “...get naked."

Davey laughed, but briefly. He felt tired. Not just physically tired, but exhausted from the juggling he'd been doing during his relationship with Beth, and before that with Patty, trying so hard to ... what?

To make them happy.

She's right
, he thought with disgust.

“Casey,” he began slowly. “I'm not so sure it's a good idea."

“And Beth was?"

“Touché.” He sighed. “Look, I'm not saying ... I'm not telling you that..."

“Yes or no, Davey."

He put a hand on the side of her face and gently moved his thumb over her soft skin. He honestly did not know what had happened between them. If Patty hadn't come along, perhaps something would've developed with Casey, something more than their strong but (with the exception of one night) platonic friendship. He would probably have never become involved with Beth.

Davey touched Casey's hair.

“Not right now, Case. But that's not a no!” he added quickly. “I just need a rest, okay? An intermission. Maybe if we just sort of ... worked up to it?” He waited. “Well?"

She smiled. “I think that's the smartest thing you've done since you left Penn. You're beginning to display some good judgment, my friend. I'm proud of you.” She bent down and kissed him. It began as a simple peck, but lingered. She pulled away and got up on the sofa with him. “Scoot over,” she said. “The best part's coming up, where Lugosi skins Karloff alive.” She cuddled up next to him. As Casey stroked his hair and Karloff screamed in pain, Davey fell asleep.

He awoke from a dream of the girl in the booth. He was on the sofa, a blanket twisted around his legs, sweat trickling over his temples. The television was off, the room was dark, and he was alone.

“Casey?” he said. The name came from his dry throat as a rasp. He swallowed a few times, coughed, sat up. “Casey?” He looked around the room and found a note taped to the television set.

Dear Mr. Van Winkle,
Sorry you're not feeling well. I hope you're better in the morning. Rest up tomorrow, I'll call you after work, and we can plan your job-hunting strategy.
Kisses,
Casey

He lay down on the sofa; he felt terribly weak.

He'd dreamed of her, her creamy skin ... her long black hair ... The panel had hummed up, but there had been no dirty glass between them. Only her.

Davey went into the kitchen and splashed a little vodka into a glass of orange juice. He got out the sketchpad he kept in a kitchen drawer, found a pencil, and began scribbling.

Shadows within shadows on the paper, shapes forming, shifting. Eyes, lips, a breast, a triangular patch of darkness...

He tore out the page, wadded it up, and tossed it toward the trash can. It missed and rolled on the floor.

Davey was still sweating. It was not hot, but he opened a window, and let in the cold air and the noise of the city.

He wondered if she was still working in the booth behind the window, or if she'd gone home to bed, perhaps with a lover. He imagined her hair spread about her face, an ebony pool over the pillow ... her breasts rising and falling in her sleep.

Davey went to his bedroom, dressed, and grabbed his umbrella.

Downstairs, he caught a bus to Times Square.

Tuesday

T
IMES
S
QUARE WAS ALIVE.

It throbbed with light: red, orange, yellow, blue, green, white, all flashing at a staggered pace, creating a silent harmony of color, softened through the mist left behind by the rain.

Davey looked at his watch
—
it was just past midnight
—
then through the rain-speckled window of the bus. The next stop was his. The bus lurched to a halt, the doors opened, and Davey stepped down onto the sidewalk.

He faced the bus, hands in his pockets, as it slowly rolled away, billowing fumes. On the other side of the street, its sign glowing a deep red above the blackened doorway, was Live Girls. The red letters were reflected on the wet pavement below, the reflection passing in and out of sight as cars hissed over it. Davey stepped off the curb, waiting for a break in the traffic when he spotted movement in the darkness of the alleyway to the right of Live Girls.

Someone stepped from the alley onto the sidewalk. Someone tall and slender in a long coat, black leather with a gray fur collar. A woman.

She held her hands before her face and flicked a butane lighter; the flame glowed a soft orange on her delicate face, creating small shadows above her high cheekbones. Dark hair fell to the side of her face. The flame disappeared; she put the lighter in her coat pocket and brushed the hair aside.

It was very long hair.

Davey felt something clutch in his chest as he watched her walk to the corner. She waved at a cab, but it drove on; she scanned the street for another.

It was the girl from the booth.

Davey took long hurried steps over the street, his only thought that he get to her before she got into a cab.

A horn blared and Davey gasped as a car jerked to a stop less than two feet from him. The driver stuck his head out the window and pushed back the bill of his cap.

“What the fuck ‘er you, re
-taahhh-
ded?"

Davey ignored the man and rushed to the other side of the street. For an instant she disappeared behind a cloud of steam rising from the pavement, then he saw her again, hailing another cab; this one slowed to a stop at the curb.

Davey broke into a run, dodging pedestrians as he rushed toward the corner.

The girl grabbed the door handle and had the door halfway open when Davey waved and shouted, “Wait!” His voice was lost in the sounds of traffic and he began to run faster. She was sliding a leg into the cab when Davey reached her. “Wait wait wait!"

Startled, she pulled her head back and raised her thin brows. “Are you talking to me?” she said firmly, her face tightening. She pulled her leg from the cab and stood behind the open door as if it were a shield.

“I ... I...” Davey's voice left him and he stared at her awkwardly, his mouth open. A white light flashed rapidly above them, having a strobelike effect on her face. The cold breeze tossed her hair against her cheek and she brushed it away.

“Well?” she said, impatience in her voice. “What do you want?"

“I ... I was coming to see you just now. I mean
”—
he gestured over his shoulder
—“
back there. I saw you earlier today. Er, yesterday.” He tried to smile. “Twice, in fact."

“Come back tomorrow. I'm off for the night.” She started to get in the cab again.

Davey put a hand on the door and said, “Wait."

She stopped, and turned to him again, cocked a brow. “Yes?” She sounded vaguely annoyed. Her leather coat crinkled softly when she moved. She took a quick drag on her cigarette.