if it were nectar and ambrosia.
Then she sank back into the tub, sighed heavily and closed her eyes.
Now is the time to beat it, I said to myself, and pretending that I was going to look for a cigarette I grabbed my hat and bolted. As I ran down the stairs I put my finger to my nostrils and smelled it. It wasn't a bad odor. It smelled of soap more than anything else.
A few nights later a private performance was being given at the theatre. Mona had begged me not to attend the performance, saying that it would make her nervous if she knew I were watching her. I had been somewhat put out about it, but finally agreed not to come. I was to meet her afterwards at the stage entrance. She specified the exact time.
I was there ahead of time, not at the stage door but at the entrance to the theatre. I looked at the announcements over and over, thrilled to see her name in bold, clear letters. As the crowd filed out I went to the opposite side of the street and watched. I didn't know why I was watching-I was just rooted to the spot. It was rather dark in front of the theatre and the taxis were all tied up.
Suddenly I saw some one rushing impulsively to the curb where a frail little man stood waiting for a taxi. It was Mona. I saw her kiss the man and then, as the taxi drove away, I saw her wave goodbye. Then her hand fell limply to her side and she stood there a few minutes as if deep in thought.
Finally she rushed back into the theatre through the main entrance.
When I met her at the stage door a few minutes later she seemed over-wrought. I told her what I had just witnessed.
«Then you saw him?» she said, clutching my hand. «Yes, but who was it?»
«Why, it was my father. He got up out of bed to come. He won't last much longer.»
As she spoke the tears came to her eyes. «He said he could die in peace now.» With this she halted abruptly and burying her head in her hands she began to sob. «I should have taken him home,» she said brokenly.
«But why didn't you let me meet him?» I said. «We could have taken him home together.»
She refused to talk about it. She wanted to go home—go home alone and weep. What could I do? I could only assent—it seemed the most delicate thing to do.
I put her in a taxi and watched her ride away. I felt deeply moved. Then I struck out, determined to bury myself in the crowd. At the corner of Broadway I heard a woman calling my name. She came up to me on the run.
«You passed me,» she said, «without recognizing me. What the matter with you? You look depressed.» She held out her two hands for me to grasp.
It was Arthur Raymond's ex-wife, Irma.
«It's funny,» she said, «I just saw Mona a few seconds ago. She got out of a cab and ran down the street. She looked distracted. I was going to speak to her, hut she ran off too quickly. I don't think she saw me either... Aren't you living together any more? I thought you were all staying at Arthur's place.»
«Just where did you see her?» I wondered if she could have been mistaken.
«Why, just around the corner.»
«Are you absolutely sure?»
She smiled strangely. «I couldn't mistake
«I don't know,» I mumbled, more to myself—«it hardly seems possible. How was she dressed?»
She described her accurately. When she said «a little velvet cape» I knew it couldn't have been any one else.
«Did you have a quarrel?»
«No—o—o, not a quarrel...»
«Well you ought to know Mona by this time,» said Irma, trying to dismiss the subject. She had taken my arm and was guiding me along, as if perhaps I were not quite in full possession of my faculties.
«I'm awfully glad to see you,» she said. «Dolores and I are always talking about you... Don't you want to drop up for a minute? Dolores will be delighted to see you. We have an apartment together. It's right near' here. Do come up... I'd love to talk to you a while. It must be over a year since I saw you last. You had just left your wife, you remember? And now you're living with Arthur— that's strange. How is he getting on? Is he doing well? I hear he has a beautiful wife.»
It didn't require much coaxing to persuade me to run up and have a quiet drink with then. Irma seemed to be bubbling over with joy. She had always been very friendly with me, but never this effusive. I wondered what had come over her.
When we got upstairs the place was dark. «That's funny,» said Irma, «she said she would be home early this evening. Oh well, she'll be along in a few minutes, no doubt. Take your things off... sit down.. I'll get you a drink in a minute.»
I sat down, feeling somewhat dazed. Years ago, when I first knew Arthur Raymond, I had been rather fond of Irma. When they separated she had fallen in love with my friend O'Mara, and he had made her just as miserable as Arthur had. He complained that she was cold—not frigid, but selfish-I hadn't given much attention to her then because I was interested in Dolores. Only once had there ever been anything approaching intimacy between us. That had been a pure accident and neither of us had made anything of it. We had met on the street in front of a cheap cinema one afternoon and after a few words, both of us being rather listless and weary, we had gone inside. The picture was unbearably dull, the theatre almost empty. We had thrown our overcoats over our laps and then, more out of boredom and the need of some human contact, our hands met and we sat thus for a while staring vacantly at the screen. After a time I slung my arm around her and drew her to me. In a few moments she let go my hand and placed her own on my prick. I did nothing, curious to see what she would make of the situation. I remembered O'Mara saying that she was cold and indifferent. So I sat still and waited. I had only a semi hard-on when she touched me. I let it grow under her hand which was resting immobile. Gradually I felt the pressure of her fingers, then a firm grasp, then a squeezing and stroking, all very quietly, delicately, almost as if she were asleep and doing it unconsciously. When it began to quiver and jump she slowly and deliberately unbuttoned my fly, reached in and grabbed my balls. Still I made no move to touch her. I had a perverse desire to make her do everything herself. I remembered the shape and the feel of her fingers; they were sensitive and expert. She had cuddled up like a cat and had ceased to look at the screen. My prick was out of course, but still hidden under the overcoat. I watched her throw the coat back and fasten her gaze on my prick. Boldly now she began to massage it, more and more firmly, more and more rapidly. Finally I came in her hand. «I'm sorry,» she murmured, reaching for her bag to extract a handkerchief. I permitted her to wipe me off with her silk kerchief. Not a word out of me. Not a move to embrace her. Nothing. Just as if I had watched her doing it to some one else. After she had powdered her face, put everything back into her bag, I pulled her to me and glued my mouth to hers. Then I pushed her coat off her lap, raised her legs and slung them over my lap. She had nothing on under her skirt, and she was wet. I paid her back in her own coin, doing it ruthlessly almost, until she came. When we left the theatre we had a coffee and some pastry together in a bakery and after an inconsequential conversation parted as though nothing had happened.
«Excuse me,» she said, «for being so long. I felt like getting into something comfortable.»
I came out of my reverie to look up at a lovely apparition handing me a tall glass. She had made herself into a Japanese doll. We had hardly sat down on the divan when she jumped up and went to the clothes closet. I heard her moving the valises around and then came a little exclamation, a sigh of frustration, as though she were calling to me in a muted voice.
I jumped up and ran to the closet where I found her standing on top of a swaying valise, reaching for something on the top shelf. I held her legs a moment to steady her and, just as she was turning round to descend, I slid my hand up under the silk kimono. She came down in my arms with my hand securely fastened between her legs. We stood there in a passionate embrace, enveloped in her feminine frills. Then the door opened and Dolores walked in. She was startled to find us buried in the closet.
«Well!» she exclaimed with a little gasp, «fancy finding
I let go of Irma and put my arms around Dolores who only feebly protested. She seemed more beautiful now than ever.
As she disengaged herself she broke out into her usual little laugh which was always slightly ironical. «We don't have to stay in the closet, do we?» she said, holding my hand. Irma meanwhile had slipped an arm around me.
«Why not stay here?» I said. «It's cosy and womb-like.» I was squeezing Irma's ass as I spoke.
