The Woman Aroused

tension.

     As I was leaving, Flo was her old caustic self, and she said, “You know this was all an accident, doesn't change anything between us. I still hate you. Now run home to that overgrown bag.”

     “Darling,” I told her, “we have our little heights, but the rest of our life seems to run on a low level. If we made a graph of...”

     “Stop it. She can't be giving you any paradise, I never saw you so...”

     “Sweetheart, I never denied loving you... in my own way, to be trite,” I said. “In fact we both love each other madly—in our own little ways. I enjoyed this afternoon... and I think you did too.”

     We were standing by the door and she drew her robe around her tighter, said, “I feel like a... whore.”

     “You're a lovely whore.”

     “Don't get any ideas—this doesn't mean you can come here anytime you like and...”

     I pinched her cheek, opened her robe and fondled her breast, said, “I know dear,” and as I unlocked the door, added, “I'll only come when the good doctor prescribes me.”

     I walked out in fine spirits—the battling Jacksons sparring again. But as I took a cab uptown I felt very tired, tired of people. I longed for the pleasures of living alone, not worrying about anybody's troubles but my own. I wanted to go when and where I felt like, do whatever I was in the mood for. I wanted to read my Times over a cocktail, enjoy the peace and quiet of having my apartment to myself. I suddenly knew I was sick and tired of Lee, wished I could get rid of her as simply as I had left Flo. Actually Lee was n6 more trouble around the house than a big cat, only not as clean, but I was fed up, bored with her simplicity. But getting rid of her wasn't going to be simple. Where could she go?

     By the time I reached my place I was very sorry for poor Lee, and even more sorry for poor me.

Chapter 6

     THE DESIRE to get rid of Lee grew on me. It wasn't anything she did, she was still around the house like a stick of furniture, demanding only that I feed her and give her the weekly hundred dollars, which she hid. As a matter of fact, if I had been as clever as I thought I was, I would have been content to let her stay, for she didn't restrict my life too much: she was a stick of furniture you could dress up and take to night clubs and dance recitals... and also sleep with, if I wished. Still I longed to return to my old single routine, longed to the extent a pregnant woman suddenly gets a mad desire for some silly thing, like a certain type of candy, or unusual food.

     I was pretty busy at the office and never did get around to advertising in the German papers for her family—if any. And that would be a long-range solution, anyway. The truth is, I let matters slide. I tried staying away from the house, except to come home to feed Lee. I began having my pre-supper cocktail again at the little bars in East midtown, then I'd go home and either make supper, or take Lee out to a neighborhood restaurant: the Hungarian place on the corner, or one of the French restaurants on Lexington Avenue. Then I would leave, make the rounds with Joe, maybe spend the night in the Turkish baths.

     Lee didn't mind.

     I was bored to tears with Lee and her personal untidiness annoyed the hell out of me. I had almost two thousand of her money left, and I thought about getting her room and board, in the country, sending her a few bucks every week. But that would still tie her to me and I wanted a clean break, and there wasn't any way of doing that except to throw her out—in which case she would probably end up in an institution. I couldn't stomach that; aside from all the humane reasons, she would certainly tell them about me and the very thought of scandal made me ill. Which was odd, for I didn't have any relations in town, or friends who would know or care, outside of the people in the office. Yet this great fear we have of that mysterious and all powerful common-denominator—“they!' “What will they say?” kept me from doing anything. And yet I had to do something, get out of this mess.

     It was funny how things balanced: before, I had been on top of the world (or so I thought—sincerely) and felt sorry for poor Joe; now Joe was riding high. He was pretty secretive about it all, but Walt was in some sort of racket with a numbers banker. What Joe did beside let them use his apartment during the day, I didn't know, but he had extra money—fifty this week, a hundred the next, and was quite pleased with himself. As he said, “My kid is smart as a whip. When he was younger I thought he was a bit dopey, reading all the time, and so quiet. But he's no blip, no telling how high he'll go and old Joe is going to tag along. What the hell, got to look after my boy.”

     Except for supper with Lee, and coming home most nights to spend the night with her, I was about back to my old routine, and I suppose things would have stayed at that level for a long time, if Lee hadn't brought our relationship to a climax one night.

     It was about a month after Eddie had sailed, and the day I received a second letter from him—a very enthusiastic note about living with his girl in Naples, although he didn't say anything about being married. But he sounded very happy. I left the office at five, took a cab to a cocktail room near Beekman Place, where I had a few as I glanced over the morning paper, reread Eddie's letter carefully. There was more news than usual in the paper, and it was nearly eight when I reached the house.

     It was cold out and Lee had a heavy robe on. She said, “George, I am very hungry.”

     “Sorry I was late,” I said, taking off my coat, going to the kitchen. Slob was wailing and I said, “Okay, you're hungry too. Hold up a minute and you'll both get something to eat.”

     I'd brought in liver and frozen vegetables and beer, and as I cooked, Lee stood in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, watching me. Then she went to get an opener for the beer. I was annoyed that I was late, and damn tired of being her persona! maid. I said, “Leave the beer alone. And get dressed. Comb your hair and wash your face. I don't like you sitting at the table unwashed.”

     She left the kitchen and when I had the food on the table I went into the living room to call her. She was sitting in the big leather chair—ashes all over it. The robe had fallen from her , legs, exposing her strong thighs. I looked at the other piles of ashes and cigarette butts around, said, “Thought I told you to get dressed? Look at yourself. My God, haven't you taken a bath lately?”

     She stood up, smiled—her little mouth becoming so big—said, “Eat first. I am hungry.” She started for the kitchen and I caught her at the doorway, held her arm.

     “No. First you wash your face, brush your teeth, comb your hair.”

     She was staring at me with a faint tolerant smile, as though I was an idiot she had to humor. She pointed to the food on the table. “Food... cold.”

     “Then let it get cold! I told you a half hour ago to dress. Now do it.” I walked over and sat down and started to eat. She didn't move, merely stood there, staring at me. I ate some more, then got up and went over to her, said as if talking to a child, “Do as I told you or you won't....”

     She suddenly said something in German that sounded like a curse, brushed past me and made for the table. As I turned I saw Slob up on the table, eating from her dish. The poor cat had never done that before, but I had forgotten all about feeding him.

     Lee made a savage swipe at him with her big hand, sending him crashing against the opposite wall. He hit with a really sickening thud, dropped to the floor on his back, blood streaming from his mouth.

     I cursed her as I bent over the cat. He was moaning with a weak, pitiful sound. I lifted him as tenderly as I could, ran out and hailed a cab. He was dead before I reached the vet's, and I left him there.

     I was chilled to the bone and in a furious mood when I returned. Lee wasn't in the kitchen, although the light was still on. She had eaten her supper and most of mine, and several crushed butts were on the dirty dishes. I ran into the bedroom. She was propped up on the bed. “You bitch, you killed Slob!”

     “Eat my food,” Lee said casually.

     “Goddamn you, that was my cat!” I tried to control my voice.

     “In Europe no katzen—people eat katzen,” she said. Her robe was open, showing her big breasts and she seemed the most obscene creature I'd ever laid eyes on. I said coldly, clearly, “Lee I want you to get out. To-night, you understand? This is my house and I want you out!”

     She shook her head. “No.”

     “No? Get up and start packing or I'll throw you out!” I screamed.

     She opened her robe farther, smiled up at me.

     I cursed her, words I hadn't used since I was a kid. I grabbed her hand, yelled, “You're getting out, bag and baggage and...!”

     She suddenly pulled me down on the bed, on top of her, and I struck her across the face, a loud hard slap. For a moment we wrestled and her eyes seemed very bright. Then her hands were at my throat as I frantically punched and clawed at her.

     There was no mistaking the look in her eyes, she was going to strangle me with her powerful hands!

     I twisted and pulled at those hands, but she was too strong and big for me. My throat seemed on fire and the room started to become hazy as I battled her. I must have worked my way to the side of the bed, for suddenly I fell off the bed. The sudden jerk of my body broke her hold on my throat. As I gulped air, I rolled away from her clutching hands, scrambled to my feet. She jumped off the bed, a crazy sneer on her