'That's right.'
'How much does the psychiatrist cost?'
'Quite a bit.'
'How much, if you don't mind my asking?'
'Five dollars an hour.'
I sat there and burned. Five dollars an hour. I cut my twenty-buck-a-day rate to ten for her. because I feel sorry for the struggling young actress trying to make it in the big city, and end up shlepping around Hoovervilles and fucking North Clark Street flophouses for five days, and she's paying five dollars an hour to some Michigan Avenue witch doctor.
She said. 'Why does that make you mad?'
'What?'
'That I go to a psychiatrist. Why does that make you mad?'
'I've just been looking into too many unshaven faces, lately, that's all.'
'I don't understand.'
'Men are selling apples on street comers and praying to pull in a buck a day. and you're pissing five bucks away for nonsense.'
'That's cruel.'
'I suppose. And it's your five bucks. You can do what you want with it.'
She didn't say anything; she was looking at her hands, which were folded in her lap.
'You must make good money doing radio,' I said.
'Not bad,' she admitted. 'And I can get money from home, if I need to.'
We sat in silence for a while.
I said. 'It really isn't my business what you do with your money. Guys selling apples on street comers isn't your fault… and your five bucks isn't going to solve the problem, so forget I said anything. Like I said, I seen too many unshaven faces while I was wandering around Hoovervilles, looking for your brother.'
'You think my life's a bunch of hooey, don't you.'
'I don't know. I don't go for Tower Town, that's all. All this free love you people talk about, it doesn't seem right somehow.'
She smiled, teasingly. 'You'd rather pay for it. is that it?'
I smiled back, against my will. 'That's not what I meant.'
She kissed me.
It was kind of a long kiss; and very sweet. Her lips were soft. Warm. Her lipstick was sticky.
'You taste better than a candy apple.' I said.
'Have another bite.' she said, and I kissed her, and my tongue slid in her mouth and it seemed to surprise her, but she liked it; she must've, because she slid hers in mine.
And that kimono slid off her shoulders and my hands were on her cool, pale flesh. Her body was soft as her lips, but muscular, too; almost a dancer's body. Her breasts weren't large- just nice handfuls; pretty handfuls with small, little-girl nipples, the areola not much bigger 'round than a piece of Lifesaver candy, with a nipple where the hole would be.
She began to undress me, kissing me while she did, and I helped, and soon we were under the covers in the four-poster. We lay kissing, petting, then as I was about to get on her, she said, 'Wait.'
'Do you want me to use something?' I asked. I had a Sheik in my billfold.
'No,' she said, getting out of bed, going to her makeup table and switching off the lamp. She went out of the room and into the bathroom and came back with a towel, which she lay on the bed, positioning herself on it. then with a pixie smile reached a hand up and turned on the electric moon.
I tried to enter her gently, but it was difficult; she was small, tight.
'Am I hurting you?'
'No.' she said. Kissing me. Smiling at me like a ghostly angel.
And I was in all the way.
It was only a few minutes, but it was a wonderful few minutes, and when she came, a moan came out of her that had pain and pleasure in it but transcended both; I came a moment later, withdrawing, spilling onto the towel she'd positioned herself on.
'No,' she said, sadly, touching my face. 'You should've stayed in me.'
I eased off, looked at her; I was on my side. 'I thought you wanted me to,' I said, and motioned toward where the towel was.
She smiled enigmatically and said, 'No. That's not what it was for.'
She gathered the towel and got up from the bed: she didn't mean for me to see, but I did: the towel was bloodstained.
I leaned back, waiting for her to return.
