HARRY: Uh-huh. The thing of it is, I don’t know, you talk about self-sufficient, Priss and I being self-sufficient. Sometimes I really feel that we are. Sometimes I feel that other people are nothing but an intrusion and that all we need are each other for company and enough income to balance the outgo. I would say I feel this way by far the greater portion of the time.
RHODA: And the rest of the time?
HARRY: The rest of the time I need more than I get.
RHODA: This is a little dangerous, this conversation.
HARRY: It’s just talk.
RHODA: Sure.
HARRY: People who connect the way we do, you and I do, ought to be able to say things to each other. You talk about being afraid you’re getting in the way, crowding us, Christ’s sake, Rho, there’s no way you could crowd us. You’re part of the family.
RHODA: Uh-huh.
HARRY: Where was I?
RHODA: Sometimes you need more than you get.
HARRY: Right, and the thing of it is
RHODA: That you and I have a thing for each other, and you’re thinking about trying it on.
HARRY: Jesus.
RHODA: That’s where you were running with the ball, isn’t it?
HARRY: That’s where the goal line is.
RHODA: Priss is my best friend on earth, Harry.
HARRY: Just your friend?
RHODA: Huh?
HARRY: Nothing. Priss is my best friend, too. That doesn’t cut it. I still want to ball you.
RHODA: No.
HARRY: She never has to know.
RHODA: Harry, I don’t want it. The whole thing is just too heavy. If we did make it I would have to move out and I don’t think I’m ready for that. I mean I like it here and I would hate to fuck it up and have to go away.
HARRY: You wouldn’t have to go.
RHODA: I couldn’t handle it.
HARRY: I want you.
RHODA: Look, damn it HARRY: And you want me. Tell me you don’t.
RHODA: You’re attractive, I dig you, I relate to you, yes, I suppose I want you, but HARRY: Come over here.
RHODA: No, I’m sorry.
HARRY: I want to kiss you and eat you and fuck you.
RHODA: Stop it.
HARRY: Just kiss me once.
RHODA: Then will you drop all this?
HARRY: If you still want me to.
RHODA: I’ll still want.
HARRY: Fair enough.
RHODA: But no more than one kiss. Or I’ll scream. That’s melodramatic, I can’t help it, but it’s what I’ll do because there’s more happening here than I can hold together. I can’t handle all this. Promise that you’ll let me go to sleep.
HARRY: I promise.
They kiss, she and he. He tests her lips with his tongue and her mouth opens like Sesame. His arms circle her and one of his large hands claps her on the buttocks and draws her loins to his. Involuntarily her anal sphincter tightens, her crotch thrusts forward, and she feels his erection press her. She thinks of Priss sleeping a few rooms away, blonde hair on her pillow, facial mask relaxed in sleep, innocent sleep, and recalls Priss’ lovemaking, and feels Priss’ husband’s cock working rhythmically against her parts, and she very very nearly melts entirely away.
But she doesn’t. She taps some reservoir of determination, hauls herself up by emotional bootstraps and ends the kiss. Each takes an unplanned step backward. They regard each other at some length.
HARRY: I knew it.
RHODA: So did I.
HARRY: That it’s all there for us. That all we have to do is let it loose.
RHODA: Not now.
HARRY: You know we will sooner or later. Nothing is going to keep us from fucking each other.
RHODA: I HARRY: So why wait?
RHODA: You promised.
HARRY: I know.
RHODA: If it’s going to happen it will. But not tonight. It can’t be tonight. I have to get my mind right.
HARRY: All right.
RHODA: Goodnight.
HARRY: Uh-huh. One of our best.
RHODA: Goodnight.
HARRY: Goodnight.
In bed, she wraps herself up securely in the bedclothing and clutches tightly to her pillow. For a long time she lies awake listening to the silence. Then, just as she is on the point of sleep, she hears them fucking through the wall. Bed springs, and moans.
She wants to cry, she holds on, and she miraculously sleeps.
CURTAIN
The next morning, I stayed in bed until I heard Priss yawning her way around the house, then took a shower and met her in the kitchen. She was going to the supermarket and the laundry and wanted to know if I felt like keeping her company. It was a way to avoid being alone with Harry, and hence postpone opening that can of worms (or box of Pandora’s) and I jumped at it.
(Jumped at the chance, not at Pandora’s box, or anyone else’s, actually.)
I remember that it rained while we were driving, a misty English rain that was well suited to the English midlands feel of the countryside. The wiper blades swept methodically back and forth, back and forth, like a hypnotist’s prop.
We discussed how you could tell a really great cheddar from a not-so-hot one, and how much better Portuguese sardines were than any other kind, and then from out of nowhere she was saying, “I’m just so glad that you’re here, Rho. I mean for selfish reasons. You’re very good for us, for Harry and for me.”
“You two are good for each other.” God alone knows what prompted that line.
“Yes, I think we really are,” she said, thoughtfully. “I do think we are. There are times when I’m not so positive of that, you know.”
“Every couple has that.”
“I’m sure they do. But you know I’m not really clever enough for Harry.”
“I’m not sure I follow that.”
“His mind is better than mine.”
“All well and good. It’s not as much better than yours as he thinks it is-”
“Oh, I know that.”
“-or even as much better than yours as you think it is, but in any case I’ll tell you something, you’re much better off that way. When the gal is brighter than the guy, and when they both know it, then you’ve got real trouble.”
