The Girl Had Been Around

Ned Grinned When I told him Margo was in Boston to open the new store. "You lucky dog -- wife out of town." We were sitting in Shor's. "Join us on the boat tomorrow. You'll have a ball."

"Who's coming?"

"Take a chance. You'll find something."

I wasn't too interested. I could get just as drunk in town and a boat trip on the East River wasn't much -- I'm not one of those sailing buffs -- even on a plush cruiser like Ned's. (He can sleep 14.) I'd have to taxi all the way to Queens -- I had gone the route before -- I could guess who would be on board: Helen, Ned's wife. Jake and Lena, his Westchester neighbors. Bill Rapson, the press agent, with that skinny ballerina he was keeping. She'd undoubtedly bring that feisty French poodle. The regular television crowd, a writer or two, maybe another agency man like me and the usual straggler who shacked up somewhere and missed his train home. It probably would rain Saturday and we'd all be jammed inside the cabin talking and drinking and smoking until the air was so thick you couldn't see your cuff links. I wasn't champing at the bit.

That was my trouble these days -- I had lost the old zing. In more ways than I cared to admit. Especially to Ned.

You can't hide it from your wife. "Maybe you're working too hard," Margo had suggested with that mocking light I dread in her eyes. "Or maybe you're going through the change."

"At 35?"

"So you're precocious."

"That's what I get for marrying a rich woman. No respect." I tried to say it lightly but my voice grated through my teeth like a stripped gear. "Go to Boston," I snapped. "Get yourself wined and dined and undermined by some department store junior executive."

"I always sleep top brass."

"I keep forgetting you can afford the best." I was sorry immediately. We had been chipping away at each other like this for weeks. The cuts were getting deeper.

On Saturday there I was in the cabin on the boat in the rain and everything was just as I had expected it to be -- except for this girl.

Ah, this girl.

She was wearing a little too much mascara, too big a bracelet -- a wide, handmade, gold and ivory thing with earrings to match. Quiet, with big black eyes. Twin blue cashmere sweaters, breasts obviously her own -- a narrow blue wool skirt, no girdle. Every man on board was watching her in one way or another. She drank her whiskey on the rocks, laughed at the jokes but didn't match stories with anyone. A girl who had been around. You had to be within a foot of her to get her perfume. I decided to stay within range.

Her name was Romaine. "As in lettuce," the dark eyes smiled.

"A salad I'd like to toss," Bill Rapson butted in. The poodle nipped him on the ankle. (I think the ballerina has the dog trained.)

"Are you a New Yorker?" I asked Romaine.

She shook her head and her short dark hair stirred and settled around her face like a silky black fringe. "Detroit."

"She went to school with Helen," Ned explained. "She's in town to make a speech at a convention at the Waldorf and she's much too smart to be seduced by a lecherous old man like you."

"I'm 35," I said.

She looked at my graying crew cut. "Did Madison Avenue do that?"

"Lexington. It's premature."

"Bart's one of those glamorous admen." Ned was enjoying himself. "He'll have his (continued on page 62) Girl Had Been Around (continued from page 40) own agency someday. I can see it now. Bartley West Associates."

"Just call me Eyepatch."

"A wheel," Ned grinned. "Started early, worked hard, married a rich woman."

I winced. He knows I married Margo for her legs.

"Where's your husband?" I asked Romaine. She was wearing a wedding ring.

"At home."

"Why isn't he with you?"

"I'll make you a deal. Don't tell me the story of your life and I won't tell you mine."

"We have to start somewhere."

She gave me a long look with those magnetic black eyes. Something I hadn't felt lately stirred inside me. "All right," she said. "Brace yourself." She waited while I took a deep breath and then she said, "I'm a doctor."

"Oh, doctor!" It was her turn to wince. I stared at her. "An M.D.?"

"An anesthetist."

"You can put me to sleep any time." I sounded as crude as Bill.

She gave me another straight look that set me tingling. "Now that the jokes are behind us why don't you freshen my drink?"

I felt as if I had been slapped. Not on the face -- on the rear. I took her glass and shouldered my way through the crowded cabin three steps down to the galley and cracked some ice. Vague aches and pains? Not Bart. Listless? Depressed? Unable to concentrate? Not Bart. Whooeee. This girl was a handful. Anticipation poured through me like a double brandy. Will she or won't she? I measured the liquor. Two things I was sure of: I didn't want to get drunk and I wanted this woman.

When I went back the poodle and the ballerina were sitting where I had left Romaine. The dancer's lip jutted out like a Ubangi's. I looked around for Bill. He had wrapped his raincoat around my girl and dragged her out on deck to look at a fireboat going by. I carried our glasses out there.

"I fix you a drink and you disappear."

"I didn't go far."

Bill pointed. "See the pretty fireboat?" He was stoned.

"Don't you two have sense enough to come in out of the rain?"

"Nag, nag, nag." He spotted the ballerina standing in the doorway. "Coming, mother."

Romaine and I stood in the gentle drizzle looking at each other. We touched glasses. "There's a raindrop caught in your eyelash. It looks like a diamond."

She glanced up at my crew cut. "You've got a tiara."

"When the sun comes out I turn into a rainbow."

"Ned said you were colorful."

"Not me. I'm a gray flannel mouse."

"On a cheesecake diet."

"You're a little too bright."

"I know." A shadow passed across her eyes. "I have this brain, I have this face, I can talk. Men hate it."

She moved away and the wind caught the raincoat, ripping it open, plastering her skirt against her body. I caught my breath and reached for her. I folded the coat around her, turning her in my arms. Her mouth tasted sweet and wet. She stood still against me, not fighting, not pushing me away -- but not cooperating either. I still didn't know. I had, say, four hours to find out.

What kind of a day was it? A day like any other day -- as Walter Cronkhite says -- except that she was there. We talked, we laughed, we drank, we played with the ship-to-shore telephone. We listened to the radio. Jake and Lena tried to dance but there really wasn't room in the cabin. And it made the poodle nervous. You get the picture. We went out on deck to watch a Coast Guard boat go by, and by the time we came to that big C painted on the rocky cliff below Columbia the rain had stopped and the racing shells were out on the smooth surface of the river. We shouted to the crewmen as they skimmed by.

Toward evening we tuned in the sixth race at Belmont and I made book. Romaine had the Main Chance horse and won 15 dollars.

"Your lucky day," I said, laying the bills in her hand. "Mine, too -- I hope." I tried to hold her glance but she lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes. (As far as I could tell that was the only thing I had going for me: she no longer could look at me. She was avoiding my gaze.) I tried moving away from her, giving my attention to another woman, but it didn't seem to bother her at all, damn it. She laughed and chatted easily with anyone who stopped beside her while I stood away listening to the husky curve of her voice, thinking forward to the end of this day.

Bill Rapson cornered me in the galley. "Take it from an old pro, Bart -- you're wasting your effort."

"You want to bet?"

"This one is all eyes and no action."

"You don't mind if I ignore your drunken counsel?"

"Every man to his own frustrations." He couldn't quite pronounce it. "Have it your own way, buddy boy. It's your kilt atilt."

This was shortly before he fell overboard. It is not true that I pushed him.

As the boat neared shore we all began arguing about where we would go for dinner after we docked but it turned out Ned already had reservations at the Pilot Club. We checked the poodle and then all of us crowded around one table in the middle of the room where I seated Romaine next to me. I pushed the menu away. "How about a steak for two?"

Her eyes twinkled like dark stars. "Don't you think that's kind of intimate?"

"I don't mind your laughing at me as long as you keep looking at me."

"I had the impression you wanted me to take you seriously."

"Just take me. Any way at all."

She gave me a keen look. "You have a need?"

"Yes, doctor." I put my arm around the soft blue sweater. "So have you -- or you wouldn't be here." She flinched. "What about this big speech you're making at the Waldorf?"

"It's very serious. The use of tranquilizers in childbirth."

I couldn't tell you whether the steak was rare or well or whether I ate anything at all. I was glad the crowd was noisy because I needed time to think. I was beginning to get to this woman. She was no casual lay. I had to make the male decision: how much, how soon. I tried to project myself beyond tonight. Why did I want her so much? And worse, why was I asking myself why? I could remember when I hadn't questioned desire. Maybe Margo was right. Middle Age. That uneasy crossroads where a man stops and looks at his wife, his friends, his job, and asks himself, what gives? Is this all? where am I? How did I get here? And who pushed me?

While I brooded over it they stuck me with the check. Seventy-eight dollars.

Ned came around and stood behind our chairs, his hand on my shoulder. "It'll be worth it, Bart."

Romaine frowned at him. "Don't promise him anything I haven't."

The party began to break up. Jake and Lena drove five of us back to town. Bill passed out on the ballerina's shoulder. Now she had two dogs.

I held Romaine on my lap in the back seat in the dark making love to her with my hands. Sometimes she stopped me. Sometimes she didn't. Jake decided we ought to stop at Shor's for a nightcap. Lena said she wasn't going in there in her Capri pants and sailor middy. Romaine suggested we come up to her suite.

Jake grinned. "Bart would kill us." (I like Jake.)

It was about two o'clock when he left us on the sidewalk in front of the Waldorf. We said goodnight to the others and Romaine and I walked into (continued on page 76) Girl Had Been Around (continued from page 62) the lobby holding hands. She pulled me back.

"You can go now," she said, sounding just like Margo.

I shook my head. "You can't mean that."

"It's only your vanity, Bart. You just want your friends to think you've had me."

"Oh, honey, do I have news for you!" I guided her into the elevator.

She tried to get rid of me again in front of her door. I took the key out of her hand and unlocked it for her. She hesitated in the doorway, looking up at me with those Latin eyes. I lifted her in my arms and carried her across the threshold.

She was trembling when I put her down. I kissed her lightly on the forehead and pushed her away. "You can make me that drink now."

She smiled. Timing was everything with this one.

We sat together on the sofa for a while and talked in low, sleepy tones about the day, the party, the people -- about the way men and women act, together and apart -- one of those intimate conversations you have with someone you've never met before and you'll never see again. At last I took her glass and set it on the coffee table.

"You have nice hands," she said.

I looked at the sweet, wet curve of her lips. I couldn't wait any longer.

She lay passive in my arms, not resisting, not really pulling back -- but not helping me either. I kept talking to her, murmuring love names and love words, my lips against the fragrance of her hair, urging her toward me, caressing her, trying to arouse her to respond to me, begging her to yield the secret warmth and depth of her body -- and then it was too late and I was beyond thought, beyond control, going for broke.

Not exactly a success.

I was spent but not content. I should have been on Cloud Nine. It felt more like Bin Seven. I opened my eyes and found her watching me.

I stared at her face pale and composed. "You're untouched and I'm a wreck."

"Not exactly untouched."

"There's a raindrop on your eyelash." She smiled. "It's a diamond."

A tear. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. Oh, no."

"You're sad now." She buried her face against me. "What are you afraid of, Romaine?" She was silent. It occurred to me that I didn't know this woman at all -- and never would.

She sighed. "Do you make love to your wife like that? She's a lucky woman."

No, I thought, if I made love to Margo like that she would open like a flower in the sun. I rolled the idea around in what was left of my mind. This was important. How long since I had put this much effort into winning Margo? When had I wooed her like this? My God. I knew now where the zing had gone.

I hugged Romaine and sat up. She hadn't given me herself -- not really -- but she had given me back my wife. Oh, Margo. Suddenly I could see the silken legs, the mocking eyes, that special vulnerability peculiar to little rich girls (Is it me or my money he wants?), her terrible and constant need for reassurance. I'll show her when she gets back, I thought. But why wait? Call her up. I reached for the phone, then I looked at my watch. What would I say to her? "I just happened to be sitting here on this woman's bed and I thought of you." Oh, Bart, you've really flipped this time. I laughed out loud.

Romaine stirred. I looked around at her. She was asleep.

I had to walk up to the corner to get a cab. The street was deserted and mysterious in the pre-dawn. It was mine. All mine. The whole town belonged to me. Suddenly I felt like a million dollars. Tax free. I could make it, too. Bartley West Associates. Yeah. I took a deep breath, hitched up my pants and headed for home.