“Maybe have a bite afterwards?”
“That would be very nice,” she said.
“Good,” Jesse said.
“I’ll meet you afterwards in the !obby.”
She smiled and stood and disposed of her tray.
“I you don’t like,the play,
don’t arrest me,” she said. “I 11 like
the play, Jesse said.
‘:He watched her as she walked away. He knew he’d hate :
‘ e play, but it was part of what he was willing to pay in ,der to see that body without the Lycra… At Santa Rosa crossed the Pecos. It was a pretty ordinary-looking little i Var to be so famous. What the hell made it so famous.’? it Judge Roy Bean.‘? The law west of the Pea:os? Small i-.’ngs pleased him as he drove. He liked seeing the towns lla.-had once marked’Route 66: Gallup, New Mexico, Flag.v‘,f, Arizona, Winona. He liked seeing the occasional nd-driven tumbleweed that rolled across the highway. He u.i, mt- seeing road signs for Indian reservations and places ’llm Fort Defiance. Past Santa Rosa he pulled off of the Interstate to get gas and a ham- and-cheese sandwich at a ‘ station/restaurant in the middle of the New Mexico wilu$1!ness.
It was the only building in sight with views in all
!i?lreCtions to the empty horizon. He pumped his own gas,
‘i?d a skinny girl with pale skin and a tooth missing took
’i money and sold him a sandwich. He sat in the car and i,the sandwich and drank a Coke and thought about how alone the skinny girl was and wondered about what she did when she wasn’t working the gas station and selling the pre-wrapped sandwiches. Probably went someplace and watched television off a dish. The sense of her aloneness made him feel a little panicky, and he put.the c0r in gear and drove away, finishing his sandwich on the move. As he drove he ran the ball of his thumb over his wedding ring, in a habitual gesture. But of course there was ho wedding ring, only the small pale indentation on his third finger where the ring had been. He glanced at the indentation for a moment and brought his eyes back to the road. The sun was behind him now, the car chasing its own elongated shadow east. He wanted to make Tucumcari by dark…
The play had been incomprehensible, he remembered. A lot of white makeup and black lipstick and shrieking. He took her up to a place on Cower called Pinot Hollywood that was open late and featured a martini bar. They drank martinis and ate calamari and talked. Or she talked. She chattered easily and without apparent pretense. He listened comfortably, glad not to talk too much, pleased when she asked him a question that he could answer easily, aware that though she talked a lot she was quite adroit at talking about him. After the bar closed he drove her to West Hol lywood where she had an apartment on Cynthia Street above Santa Monica Boulevard. It was 2:30 in the morning and the street was still. At the door she asked if he’d like to come in. He said he would. The apamnent was living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bath. It had been built into one corner of the building so that all the rooms were angular and odd shaped. The living room overlooked the street. The bedroom allowed a glimpse of the pool.
“Would you like a drink, Jesse?”
“Sure,” he said.
She was wearing a little black dress with spaghetti straps and bacldess high-heeled shoes. She put her hands on her hips and smiled at him. Maybe a little theatrical, but she was an actress.
“Let’s have it afterwards,” she
said.
Her bedroom was neat. The bed freshly made. She had probably planned, this afternoon, to ask him in. He watched her undress with the same feeling he used to have when, as a small boy, he unwrapped a present. She folded her dress neatly over the back of a chair and lined her shoes Carefully together under it. She squirmed out of her underIc Pmts and dropped them into the clothes hamper in her loset. She wiped her lipstick off carefully and dropped the tissue in the wastebasket.
They made love on top of the spread, and lay together afterward in the dim bedroom listening to the comforting white noise of the air conditioning.
“You’re very fierce, Jesse.”
“I don’t mean to be,” he said.
“No, it’s fine. It’s exciting in
fact. But you seem so, urn, o still, on the outside and then, you know, wow.”
“You’re pretty exciting,” he
said. He didn’t know what .lse to say. He didn’t like to talk about his emotions.
“I try to be,” she said. i: They lay
quietly on their backs. His arm under her neck.
? e,r, head on his right shoulder.
I: ‘I wouldn’t want to make you
mad,“ Jennifer said.
You won’t. i They lay quietly for a while longer, then she got up and irt on a longish tee shirt and made them a drink.
He felt like a fool sitting naked, but he didn’t want to be so formal i to get fully dressed. He settled for putting his pants on, leaving his gun bolstered on top of her dresser. They’t on stools at the tiny counter that separated her kitchen from her living room, and sipped white wine.
