Deirdre walked into Rico’s Restaurant wearing a tight black knit halter dress and black spike heels. Her hair was a vibrant, fiery red, and her makeup was as bold as her walk.
Rico’s was a modest restaurant done in dark woods and reds, with candle holders in the center of each table providing most of the illumination. It was intimate rather than fancy. Deirdre was the brightest thing in it. She was knock-dead gorgeous. Every male head in the restaurant turned to follow her progress as she made her way to the corner table where Molly and David waited.
Molly had gone light with her makeup and hadn’t done much with her hair, and she was wearing jeans and a white blouse. She’d noticed at the restaurant, too late, that Michael had drooled chocolate milk on the right shoulder of the blouse just before she and David had left to walk to Rico’s.
As Deirdre approached, smiling, Molly told herself not to feel inferior. She was younger than this woman—and she was the one who had David. It was a plan, Deirdre showing up here dressed like that. It was a goddamned plan and Molly was determined not to let it work.
But she
was
intimidated and couldn’t entirely deny it.
David stood up from the table, letting his napkin slide from his lap to the floor.
“Where’s Chumley?” he asked.
“He sends his regrets,” Deirdre said, looking directly at David. She hadn’t yet looked at Molly. “He had to work late tonight. He’s in the import-export business, you know. Maybe his ship came in.”
David seemed to come out of his daze. “Molly, this is Deirdre.” He stooped quickly and picked up his napkin.
A waiter seemed to spring from the floor and pulled a chair back for Deirdre, who sat down with a calculated show of leg and cleavage. “You’re as young and pretty as David said,” she told Molly. Then to the waiter, before Molly could acknowledge the compliment: “I’ll have a vodka martini on the rocks with a lime twist.”
The waiter nodded and retreated.
Deirdre smiled and looked from Molly to David, waiting for conversation but not at all ill at ease. Molly told herself again not to be intimidated by this woman.
David picked up the glass of beer he’d been drinking, then set it back down. He nervously wiped his damp fingers on his napkin. “You and Chumley seemed to be getting along well when I saw you yesterday,” he said to Deirdre.
“Craig’s a dear. I’m lucky to have found him.” She turned to Molly. “And you’re lucky to have found David. Unbelievably lucky. Oh, he’s not perfect—and believe me, I know all about him—but I think he’s turned into a real winner.”
The waiter returned with Deirdre’s drink. She hesitated until he was gone, then she raised her glass. “Well, here’s blood in your eye.”
“That’s—No, never mind,” David said.
They all sipped from their drinks while the silence at the table stretched to awkwardness.
“Deirdre’s in the shoe business,” David finally blurted out.
Molly stared dead-eyed at him.
“Well, not anymore,” Deirdre said. “That is, I won’t be for long if things work out right. Craig Chumley’s offered me a job as his assistant. Everything about it sounds wonderful. I haven’t said yes yet, but I’m considering it.”
It took Molly a few seconds to absorb what that might mean. She sat stunned for another few seconds before she could speak She glanced at David, who looked down at his lap. “But don’t you have friends, a home, obligations in Saint Louis?”
Deirdre seemed not to notice her discomfort. “Nothing I can’t walk away from,” she said. “Of course, the cost of living’s a lot higher here in New York than it is in the Midwest. I’ll just have to sit down and figure it all out. Run it up the flagpole and see if it salutes.”
Molly felt David’s hand come to rest on hers as he spoke. “I got the impression yesterday, Deirdre, that there was something…I mean, some affection between you and Chumley.”
“Oh, there is. He’s a wonderful man. That’s certainly something else I’ll have to take into consideration.” She picked up a menu and studied it for a few seconds. “Is the cannelloni good here? One thing I don’t have to worry about is my figure. Not yet, anyway.”
“All the pasta’s good here,” David told her. He ran his forefinger around the rim of his glass. “Deirdre, this is kind of a bombshell.”
“You mean my figure?” She laughed. “No, you mean the cannelloni.”
Molly kicked the side of David’s leg, hard, under the table.
“What I mean,” David said, showing no sign of pain, “is that the kind of move you’re talking about is a major step for anyone to take. You seem to be doing it almost on a whim. New York can be a hard city to live in.”
Jewelry and bright red enamel flashed as Deirdre made a casual backhand motion of dismissal. “Don’t worry about me, you two. I always jump before I leap.”
“But you don’t know anything about the import-export business, do you?” Molly asked.
“What’s to learn?” Deirdre said. “Import, export. In and out, in and out…I’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Yep,” Molly said. She felt David’s foot nudge hers beneath the table.
“Let’s stop talking about me,” Deirdre said. “Tell me about Michael.” She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. More cleavage. “Does he look like David?”
“More like Molly, actually,” David said.
“He looks exactly like David,” Molly said.
Deirdre smiled directly at her. Great, even white teeth, Molly noticed. Though it was oddly carnivorous, it was a smile that dazzled. “He could do a lot worse,” Deirdre said. She beamed her full attention at David. “One thing I’m going to need is an apartment. Do either of you know of a good one that’s available? Is this a decent neighborhood?”
“We like it,” David said.
Molly thought it was good that no one at the table was carrying a gun.
The waiter approached to take their orders.
Molly caught his attention first.
“I’ll have the cannelloni,” she said.
That night Molly stood before the medicine cabinet mirror in the bathroom and assessed her image. She was preparing for bed and was wearing only her
FOR SLEEP OR SEX
T-shirt and panties. She was attractive enough, she thought. Not the potential watermelon queen of the state fair like Deirdre, but she knew she appealed to men—at least some men. David. She thought. No, she was sure.
She pulled up the front of her shirt and rubbed a hand across her slightly protruding stomach. Normal, she assured herself. Even Deirdre would have a slight stomach paunch. Maybe even a few stretch marks like the ones in the mirror. Surely any thirty-eight-year-old woman would have given some ground to gravity and age. She pinched the excess flesh around her waist. According to that cereal commercial on TV she needed to lose weight. But then they were trying to talk her into buying cereal instead of doughnuts.
Okay, they’d eat fewer doughnuts.
Dissatisfied with herself, she let the T-shirt drop. She ran some cold water, bent over the washbasin, and began vigorously brushing her teeth.
She’d closed the bathroom door only halfway. It was pushed all the way open and David stood in the doorway looking in at her. He was wearing only his T-shirt and jockey briefs.
“Okay,” he said, “it didn’t go well. It’s a shame Chumley wasn’t there. He seems like a nice enough guy, and they’re obviously crazy about each other.”
Molly leaned closer to the washbasin and spat. “If the woman were a fish, she’d be a piranha.”
David smiled. “I thought you were going to say shark.”
“No. Sharks are honest predators. They take big bites then swim on.” She wiped a washcloth almost viciously across her mouth and dropped her toothbrush back in the porcelain holder. “Piranhas take small bites, but lots of them.”
“Come on, Mol. She isn’t that bad. I’ll admit she’s a little flaky. In fact, a lot flakier than she used to be. But at heart she’s a decent enough person.”
Molly put the toothpaste back in the medicine cabinet and held his gaze in the partly opened mirrored door. “Then why did you two divorce?”
“Incompatibility, like the divorce decree said.”
“Weren’t you the one who decided to end the marriage?”
She saw guilt cross his face for an instant. He’d lied to her.
“Yes,” he said, “at a certain point. But legally which of us left the other would depend on whose lawyer you asked. And maybe I wasn’t such a decent sort myself in those days.”
“She left you, didn’t she?”
“At a certain point, maybe.” A brittle, defensive note had found its way into his voice. “It’s hard to say now. And it doesn’t matter now.”
“Jesus, David!”
She switched off the light and walked into the bedroom, aware that he was close behind her. She got into bed, didn’t look at him as she heard the sheets rustle as he climbed in beside her, felt the mattress give beneath the weight of his body and heard the bedsprings whine. She wondered if there was some way to get bedsprings to be quiet; she was sure they could be heard next door or in the apartment below. She lay facing away from him, silent. He settled down and was silent, too. The window was open but the air conditioner was off. Sounds of nighttime traffic wafted in. Someone shouting far away. What might have been a gunshot. The city kept getting more dangerous.
“Did I hear Michael?” David asked.
“No.” She knew he was only trying to forge an opening so they would talk. All right, if that was what he wanted.
Still facing away from him, she said, “That abortion story you told me, was that true?”
“Of course! Deirdre’s been through a lot, and she feels middle-age sneaking up on her. She’s jealous of you, Mol.”
Molly wasn’t convinced. “Some older woman!”
“It really doesn’t matter,” David said.
“Do you think she’s had cosmetic surgery?”
“I don’t know. Or care.”
“Sometimes you can tell if you look closely. Around the eyelids.”
“To tell you the truth, Mol. I think you’re acting a little paranoid about this. It’s the younger woman who’s supposed to be a threat to the older one.”
Molly sat up in bed and switched on the reading lamp. “I can’t believe it! You’re actually defending her!”
David stayed down. Not rising to the bait, she thought.
“Not really defending her,” he said. “I’m just trying to inject a modicum of reason into this conversation.”
It angered Molly when he did that, tried to take the high philosophical and moral ground. “I don’t want to see her again. I don’t want you to see her again.”
He still didn’t move, his face pressed sideways into his pillow, slightly distorting his words. “We probably won’t run into each other again. And if she and Chumley want to have dinner with us, we can politely decline. Is that good enough?”
“It would be if I didn’t think you were just trying to please me.” She switched off the light and settled back down, lying facing away from him again in the dimness. A breeze pressed in through the open window, swaying the curtains. Shadows danced.
He moved closer, she could hear the sheets rustle, feel the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck. “What’s wrong with doing something just to please you? I love you, Mol. I enjoy doing things to please you.”
“I do things to please you, too, don’t I? Wasn’t I polite to Deirdre? I mean, under the circumstances?”
He moved in closer, snaked an arm over her, kissed her cheek. “You’re always polite. I told you, you’re civilized. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
She didn’t answer.
“Mol?” He kissed her cheek again, then used a finger to toy with her ear. She forced herself to lie still and not respond. “What are you thinking about, Mol?”
“Architecture,” she said.
Deirdre stood hunched close to the public phone, as if to keep her conversation as private as possible, though she was alone on the dark street of shabby office buildings and closed shops. There wasn’t much light except for the corner where the phone was, and where some faintly glowing show windows cast pale dim illumination over the sidewalk half a block away. A red neon sign near the intersection said that used watches were sold there. There was a faint but ripe smell of sewage in the night air.
“I’ve decided to stay in New York,” she told Darlene. “To live here.”
“That would be a mistake, Deirdre.” Darlene’s voice on the phone was firm and positive. “You must not have thought this all the way through.”
“Oh, but I have. And I know this is the place for me. That I absolutely belong here.”
Darlene laughed. “I’m not sure anyone belongs here. New York is a hard city. It will allow you anything and forgive you nothing.”
“Like the rest of the world.”
“No, much harder than the rest of the world. Most of that world, anyway”
“You
more or less live here.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Then I can get used to it,” Deirdre said.
“What about your job in Saint Louis? What will you do for money here in New York?”
“I have a job lined up.”
“What sort of job?”
“Import and export. In and out.”
Darlene was quiet. Deirdre could imagine her sitting in her apartment, maybe with a cup of tea beside her, with her legs curled beneath her and her hair and makeup perfect. Like in a movie. Maybe she even had a white telephone.
“Listen, Deirdre,” Darlene finally said, “it isn’t that I don’t like your company—”
“Oh, sure.”
“C’mon now, Deirdre, give me a break. I’m only trying to keep you from making the same mistake made by a lot of people unfamiliar with how New York can be for them. It’s a dangerous city.”
“Everywhere is dangerous. I learned that early. Horrible things can happen to you even at home in your own bed.”
“I wish I could change your mind.”
“You try,” Deirdre said, “but you can’t change the way I think. The way I am. Or arrange my life so it’s like yours. You’ll have to have the wisdom to accept what you can’t arrange.”
“Where are you calling from?” Darlene asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to the movies. In New York, you can go to the movies almost any time of the day or night. It’s wonderful.”
A man in a grimy green muscle shirt, cut off so his protruding stomach showed, appeared a few feet away from the phone. He looked like a small, chunky Burt Lancaster, only with darker hair on his head and more hair on his body Even his stomach was dark with hair. He grinned and Burt Lancaster was there even stronger, only uglier, with much coarser features.
“You don’t know the parts of town that are dangerous,” Darlene said on the phone.
“You about done talkin’, sweetheart?” the man asked. Above the grin, his eyes consumed her.
“Who said that?” Darlene sounded alarmed.
“Don’t worry. It’s just some guy waiting to use the phone.”
Burt Lancaster grinned wider.
“Deirdre, listen—”
“Sorry, Darlene, I’ve gotta hang up. The gentleman wants to make a call. I’ll phone you back later about New York.”
She replaced the receiver and started to walk away from the phone. Burt was suddenly in front of her, still with the toothy grin. Didn’t he know he was overdoing it?
“This is a bad neighborhood, sweets. Interesting things can happen to a looker like you.”
“You’re in the wrong role,” Deirdre said. “Even the wrong movie.”
“Role? Movie?” He shook his head, then glanced up and down the dark street. “You’re gonna play the scene just like I tell you, so you might as well accept that fact. You might say I’m gonna be your director.” His hand touched his crotch. “You really wouldn’t mind that at all, would you?”
Deirdre’s right arm shot straight out so the heel of her hand slammed into the man’s nose.
He backed up several steps, his fingers clutching his broken nose. There was blood on his shirt and dribbling down onto his hairy stomach.
For an instant rage almost propelled him toward her, then he seemed to notice what was in her eyes. It wasn’t the fear he’d expected. It was something else entirely. He stood still.
She stepped toward him, and he moved away.
“I was only trying to be nice to you,” he said, spitting blood.
“You’ve already been very nice to me,” Deirdre told him. “Maybe you can be even nicer.”
He stared at her with uncomprehending eyes, then turned and walked quickly away.
She stood still. He glanced back twice to make sure she wasn’t following.
When he saw that she was smiling, he walked even faster and crossed the street.
She shrugged and shook her head. “Men!” she said softly to herself.