“That would be for her to answer,” I said.
“If she did would you care?”
“Yes.”
“Did she care the time you did?”
“Yes.”
“How’d she find out?”
“I told her.”
“Would she have known if you hadn’t told her?”
“Maybe not.”
“Why did you tell her?”
“Seemed a good idea at the time,” I said.
“If you did again would she care?”
“Yes.”
“Would you tell her?”
“I’ll decide after I do it again.”
“Do you think you’ll do it again?” she said.
I couldn’t figure out how she had moved so much closer to me, since she had started out leaning on me.
“Day at a time,” I said.
My voice sounded a little hoarse. She turned her head slightly on my chest so she could look up at me. One hand kneaded my left bicep.
“You’re awfully strong, aren’t you?”
I cleared my throat.
“It’s because my heart is pure,” I said.
I was still hoarse. I cleared my throat again. Her face was so close to mine that her lips brushed my face when she spoke.
“Really?”
“Sort of pure,” I said.
She raised her head a couple of millimeters and kissed me hard on the mouth. It seemed ungallant to struggle. She pulled her head back.
“When you kiss me put your tongue in my mouth,” she said.
Her voice had thickened and grown richer, so that it had acquired the quality of butterscotch sauce. She kissed me again and opened her mouth. I kept my tongue to myself. She pressed harder. I thought that somewhere there must be laughter, as I clung to my chastity. Finally she pulled her head back and looked at me.
“Don’t you want to fuck me?” she said.
“Very respectfully, no.”
“My God, why not. I know you’re aroused.”
“You’re very desirable,” I said. “And I get aroused at green lights.”
“Then, what?”
“I’m not at liberty, so to speak.”
“My God, you’re Victorian. A Victorian prude.”
I disagreed, but arguing about my prudishness didn’t seem productive. I shrugged.
“It’s because of Susan?”
“Sure,” I said.
She had sat up and was no longer leaning against me. This was progress, it would help my arteries relax. KC poured some more white wine and drank a swallow.
“What’s so great about Susan?”
‘The way she wears her hat,“ I said. ’The way she sips her tea.”
“Seriously, what’s so special about her? I mean I’ve known her longer than you have, since we were in college. She’s so vain, for God’s sake.”
“I’m not so sure it’s vanity,” I said.
Better to be talking about Susan than about what to do with my tongue.
“Well, what the hell is it, then. Hair, makeup, clothes, exercise, diet, always has to look perfect.”
“Well,” I said, “maybe she thinks of her appearance as a work of art in progress, sort of like painting or sculpture.”
