”I’ll bet he couldn’t wait to tell you every detail. Probably embellished a great deal.“
”No. As a matter of fact he was quite reluctant. I had to strike him in the solar plexus.“
She made a slight smiling motion with her mouth for a moment. ”I must say you don’t talk the way I’d have expected.“
”I read a lot,“ I said.
”So what is my problem?“
”I don’t read that much,“ I said. ”I assume you are insecure about your sexuality and ambivalent about it. But that doesn’t mean anything that either one of us can bite into.“
”Well, don’t we have all the psychological jargon down pat. If my husband slept around would you assume he was insecure and ambivalent?“
”I might,“ I said. ”Especially if he had a paroxysm the morning after and was last seen crying on the bed.“
Her face got a little pink for a moment. ”He was revolting. You’ve seen him. How I could have, with a pig like that. A drunken, foul, sweaty animal. To let him use me like that.“ She shivered. Across the street Jane and Rose stood poised, eyes fixed upon us, ready to spring. I felt like a cobra at a mongoose festival. ”He didn’t give a damn about me. Didn’t care about how I felt. About what I wanted. About sharing pleasure. He just wanted to rut like a hog and when it was over roll off and go to sleep.“
”He didn’t strike me too much as the Continental type,“ I said.
”It’s not funny.“
”No, it isn’t no more than everything else. Laughing is better than crying though. When you can.“
”Well, isn’t that just so folksy and down home,“ she said. ”What the hell do you know about laughing and crying?“
”I observe it a lot,“ I said. ”But what I know isn’t an issue. If Eddie Taylor was so revolting, why did you pick him up?“
”Because I goddamned well felt like it. Because I felt like going out and getting laid without complications. Just a simple straightforward screw without a lot of lovey-dovey—did-you-like-that-do-you-love-me crap.“
”You do that much?“
”Yes. When I felt like it, and I’ve been feeling like it a lot these last few years.“
”You usually enjoy it more than you did with old Eddie?“
”Of course, I—oh hell, I don’t know. It’s very nice sometimes when it happens, but afterwards I’m still hung up on guilt. I can’t get over all those years of nice-girls-don’t-do-it, I guess.“
”A guy told me you always went for the big young jocko types. Muscle and youth.“
”You have yourself in mind? You’re not all that young.“
”I would love to go to bed with you. You are an excellent-looking person. But I’m still trying to talk about you.“
”I’m sorry,“ she said. ”That was flirtatious, and I’m trying to change. Sometimes it’s hard after a long time of being something else. Flirtatious was practically the only basis for male-female relationship through much of my life.“
”I know,“ I said. ”But what about the guy who says you go for jockos. He right?“
She was silent awhile. An old Plymouth convertible went by with the top down and radio up loud. I heard a fragment of Roberta Flack as the sound dopplered past.
”I guess I do. I never really gave it much thought but I guess the kind of guy I seek out is big and young and strong looking. Maybe I’m hoping for some kind of rejuvenation.“
”And a nice uncomplicated screw.“
”That too.“
”But not with someone who just wants to rut and roll off.“
She frowned. ”Oh, don’t split hairs with me. You know what I mean.“
”No,“ I said. ”I don’t know what you mean. And I don’t think you know what you mean. I’m not trying to chop logic with you. I’m trying to find out how your head is. And I think it’s a mare’s nest.“
”What’s a mare’s nest?“
”Something confused.“
”Well, I’m not a mare’s nest. I know what I want and what I don’t want.“
”Yeah? What?“
”What do you mean what?“
”I mean what do you want and what do you not want.“
”I don’t want to live the way I have been for twenty years.“
”And what do you want?“
”Something different.“
”Such as?“
