She sat on the couch next to me and talked about books she had read and movies she had seen. She was very good at small talk. I suppose she had to be.
We kissed a few times, and I touched her breasts and put a hand on her round bottom. She made a purring sound.
'Want to come to bed, Matt?'
'Sure.'
The bedroom was small, with a more subdued color scheme. She turned on a small stained-glass lamp and killed the overhead light. We got undressed and lay down on the queen-size bed.
She was warm and young and eager, with soft, perfumed skin and a tautly muscled body. Her hands and mouth were clever. But it was not working, and after a few minutes I moved away from her and patted her gently on the shoulder.
'Relax, honey.'
'No, it's not going to work,' I said.
'Something I should be doing?'
I shook my head.
'Too much to drink?'
It wasn't that. I was far too completely locked into my own head. 'Maybe,' I said.
'It happens.'
'Or maybe it's the wrong time of the month for me.'
She laughed. 'Right, you got your period.'
'Must be.'
We put our clothes on. I got three tens from my wallet and put them on the dresser. As usual, she pretended not to notice.
'Want that drink now?'
'Uh-huh, I guess. Bourbon, if you have it.'
She didn't. She had Scotch, and I settled for that. She poured herself a glass of milk, and we sat on the couch together and listened to the music without saying anything for a while. I felt as relaxed as if we had made love.
'Working these days, Matt?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Well, everybody has to work.'
'Uh-huh.'
She shook a cigarette out of her pack, and I lit it for her. 'You got things on your mind,' she said.
'That's what's the matter.'
'You're probably right.'
'I know I'm right. Want to talk about anything?'
'Not really.'
'Okay.'
The telephone rang, and she answered it in the bedroom. When she came back I asked her if she had ever lived with a man.
'You mean like a pimp? Never have and never will.'
'I meant like a boyfriend.'
'Never. It's a funny thing about boyfriends in this business. They always turn out to be pimps.'
'Really?'
'Uh-huh. I've known so many girls. Oh, he's not a pimp, he's my boyfriend.'
But it always turns out that he's between jobs, and that he makes a life's work out of being between jobs, and she pays for everything. But he's not a pimp, just a boyfriend. They're very good at kidding themselves, those girls.
I'm lousy at kidding myself. So I don't even try.'
'Good for you.'
'I can't afford boyfriends. Busy saving for my old age.'
'Real estate, right?'
'Uh-huh. Apartment houses in Queens. You can keep the stock market. I want something I can reach out and touch.'
'You're a landlady. That's funny.'
'Oh, I never see tenants or anything. There's a company manages it for me.'
